Odes, 1.1

Horace’s first Ode

by Horace

In this, the first poem in his first book of Odes, Horace does two things for the first, but by no means the last, time. First, he compliments his great friend and patron Maecenas, who was one of the Emperor Augustus’s right-hand men. At the other end of the poem, after listing diverse things that matter most to different people, he says what matters most to him: being recognised as the peer in Latin of the great Greek lyric poets of the past. It is his masterly adaptation of those Greek poets’ themes, and of the intricate metres in which they wrote, that marks Horace out as a great innovator, and one of the very greatest Latin writers.

This first Ode is a good illustration of how very different English and Latin are as languages to write poetry in. The translation cannot get near to the economy of the original: in Latin, one of Horace’s lines uses just under five words on average; the translation needs nine. We cannot replicate in English the concision of Horace’s Latin, the much greater flexibility of its word-order, the intricacy and elegance of its wordplay or the musicality and rhythmical quality of its metre. This is why it is worth listening to the original – which would have been composed with performance in mind – and not just relying on a translation, whether literal or literary, to explain what it is “about”.

North Africa provided a large share of Rome’s corn supply, hence the “African” threshing-floors; and Attalus was a King of Pergamon in the second century BCE who was famous for extreme luxury (and who left his kingdom to Rome in his will). Lesbos is mentioned because at least two of the most important Greek lyric poets that Horace took as his models – Alcaeus and Sappho – came from the island. Euterpe and Polyhymnia are Muses.

Metre: (first) Asclepiad, composed entirely of standard twelve-syllable asclepiadic lines.

See the illustrated blog post here.

To listen, press play:

To scroll the original and English translation of the poem at the same time - tap inside one box to select it and then scroll.

Maecenas atavis edite regibus,
o et praesidium et dulce decus meum:
sunt quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum
collegisse iuvat metaque fervidis
evitata rotis palmaque nobilis.
terrarum dominos evehit ad deos
hunc, si mobilium turba Quiritium
certat tergeminis tollere honoribus,
illum, si proprio condidit horreo
quidquid de Libycis verritur areis.
gaudentem patrios findere sarculo
agros Attalicis condicionibus
numquam demoveas, ut trabe Cypria
Myrtoum pavidus nauta secet mare.
luctantem Icariis fluctibus Africum
mercator metuens otium et oppidi
laudat rura sui; mox reficit rates
quassas indocilis pauperiem pati.
est qui nec veteris pocula Massici
nec partem solido demere de die
spernit, nunc viridi membra sub arbuto
stratus, nunc ad aquae lene caput sacrae.
multos castra iuvant et lituo tubae
permixtus sonitus bellaque matribus
detestata. manet sub Iove frigido
venator tenerae coniugis inmemor,
seu visa est catulis cerva fidelibus
seu rupit teretes Marsus aper plagas.
me doctarum hederae praemia frontium
dis miscent superis, me gelidum nemus
Nympharumque leves cum Satyris chori
secernunt populo, si neque tibias
Euterpe cohibet nec Polyhymnia
Lesboum refugit tendere barbiton.
quodsi me lyricis vatibus inseres,
sublimi feriam sidera vertice.

Maecenas, sprung from regal ancestry, my bulwark and sweet pride, some delight in being covered in Olympic dust in a chariot, in avoiding the turning-post with their fiery wheels and in the victor’s noble palm. It lifts one man to the level of the Gods if the throng of fickle voters vie to exalt him through the triple course of public honours, another if he has stored in his own granary crops gathered from the threshing-floors of Africa. Even with offers generous as those of King Attalus, you will never divert a man who loves to till the fields of his fathers with the hoe into cleaving the Aegean, a frightened sailor in a ship of Cypriot timber. The merchant, when scared by the southerly battling the waters where Icarus fell, praises leisure and the fields of his home town, but soon he finds that he can’t do without money and refits his battered ships. Some don’t say no to cups of vintage Massic wine and taking a part of the working day off, stretching themselves  under the green arbutus, or by the gentle source of a sacred stream. Many get their pleasure from soldiering, the bugle mingling with the sound of the trumpet, and the wars that mothers loathe. The hunter forgets his sweet wife and stays out under the cold sky if a deer has been sighted by his faithful hounds, or a boar of the hill country has torn through his ring of nets. Me? The ivy garland, prize of learned poets’ brows, unites me with the Gods above; the cool grove and the nimble dances of nymphs with Satyrs set me apart from the crowd, if Euterpe does not stint the music of the pipes and  Polyhymnia is prepared to tune the Lesbian lyre. So count me among the bards of lyric poetry, and I will hold my head so high that I bang it on the stars!

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More Poems by Horace

  1. A garland from the Muses
  2. Courage and decadence: the Regulus ode
  3. Carpe diem, Sestius
  4. Horace’s limitations
  5. Horace’s reverence to Bacchus
  6. The tug-of-war for Nearchus
  7. Be your age, Chloris!
  8. Rome: disaster and salvation
  9. Mourning for a good man
  10. O Fons Bandusiae
  11. Here’s to Murena!
  12. Jealousy
  13. Nereus prophesies the Trojan War
  14. Europa’s lament
  15. Horace’s monument
  16. Horace, the wolf and the upright life
  17. An invocation to the lyre
  18. A change of mind
  19. Curse you, tree!
  20. Horace the peacemaker
  21. Horace invites – Virgil?
  22. Last love
  23. A Prayer to the poetry-God
  24. Pindar and Augustus
  25. Lyce grows old
  26. Iccius goes soldiering
  27. Augustus returns
  28. Wealth should be used, not hoarded
  29. A dedication to Diana
  30. Horace’s Chloe
  31. A country sacrifice
  32. Tibur or Tarentum: a poet’s dilemma?
  33. A Farewell to arms
  34. Pyrrha
  35. Love a slave-girl? Oh, Xanthias!
  36. Augustus at the pinnacle
  37. Augustus, master of the world
  38. The fleeting years slip by
  39. Postumus, the years slip by
  40. Horace returns to lyric poetry
  41. Gyges’s constancy
  42. Don’t trust Barine
  43. A prayer to Venus
  44. Roman values for the new age
  45. Numida’s back
  46. A divine inspiration
  47. Poetry, the giver of immortality
  48. Fortuna
  49. Stormy seas
  50. The Golden Mean
  51. The consolations of wine
  52. Licymnia
  53. Pollio’s histories of civil war
  54. Love lost and found
  55. Romulus becomes a God
  56. The lust for money versus the simple life
  57. Unrequited love
  58. Give me comfort, not riches
  59. Horace, accepted bard of Rome
  60. New temples, new morals
  61. A call for a moral renaissance
  62. A tactful compliment
  63. Ligurinus’s unwelcome change
  64. The victories of Drusus and Tiberius
  65. The pleasures and dangers of wine
  66. Diana and Apollo: a hymn
  67. Celebrating Neptune’s feast day
  68. Horace’s fame and Apollo’s gift
  69. Horace’s Cleopatra ode
  70. Relief from care
  71. Horace the swan
  72. Horace’s wine
  73. Soracte
  74. Lydia’s tragedy
  75. Luxury versus the simple life
  76. Diffugere nives
  77. Awe for the Gods
  78. Locked out
  79. A prayer to Faunus
  80. Leave the cares of state, Maecenas
  81. Glycera
  82. An invitation to Maecenas
  83. Horace rests from his labours
  84. The final ode
  85. A plea for burial
  86. Jupiter’s authority, and Caesar’s
  87. Late stirrings
  88. Valgius and Mystes
  89. A day off for rain
  90. Lovely mother, lovelier daughter
  91. Housman and Horace
  92. Don’t worry, be happy
  93. Horace welcomes his army comrade
  94. A prayer to Mercury
  95. Some advice for Dellius
  96. The country is best
  97. Romulus in Heaven
  98. What Roman youth should be
  99. Lalage is too young
  100. An oath to Maecenas
  101. Neobule
  102. Gathering rosebuds: carpe diem
  103. Horace’s prayer to a wine-jar
  104. Caesar’s safe return
  105. Poscimur
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