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: Asclepiad.

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 my 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 time out of the working day, 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. Count me among the bards of lyric poetry, and I will bang my head upon the stars!

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More Poems by Horace

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