Odes 1.17

The country is best

by Horace

The place-names show that the setting if this Ode is Horace’s Sabine farm, which for two millennia has stood in western culture as a symbol for the happy country life. The smelliness of his Billy-goat seems an incongruous touch, but adds gentle humour; and both modern and ancient commentators have been baffled that Horace describes Circe as “vitream”, “glassy”. Perhaps, though Homer did not, Horace is thinking of her as a sea-nymph and giving her a watery epithet. Tyndaris, the person to whom the poem is addressed, with her Greek name and her lyre, must be a musically accomplished courtesan. She is probably an imaginary character, introduced, with her recent problems with a brutish and drunken boyfriend, to provide an urban contrast to the peaceful joys of the country. Horace sets elegant little puzzles for his cultivated audience through oblique references to history and myth: “Teia”, an adjective of place, identifies Anacreon, one of the Greek predecessors that Horace revered; and in the second stanza from the end, Bacchus is identified by adjectives formed from the names of each of his parents.

Metre: Alcaics.

See the illustrated blog post here.

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Velox amoenum saepe Lucretilem
mutat Lycaeo Faunus et igneam
defendit aestatem capellis
usque meis pluviosque ventos.

inpune tutum per nemus arbutos
quaerunt latentis et thyma deviae
olentis uxores mariti
nec viridis metuunt colubras

nec Martialis haediliae lupos,
utcumque dulci, Tyndari, fistula
valles et Usticae cubantis
levia personuere saxa.

di me tuentur, dis pietas mea
et musa cordi est. hic tibi copia
manabit ad plenum benigno
ruris honorum opulenta cornu.

hic in reducta valle Caniculae
vitabis aestus et fide Teia
dices laborantis in uno
Penelopen vitreamque Circen;

hic innocentis pocula Lesbii
duces sub umbra nec Semeleius
cum Marte confundet Thyoneus
proelia nec metues protervum

suspecta Cyrum, ne male dispari
incontinentis iniciat manus
et scindat haerentem coronam
crinibus inmeritamque vestem.

Swift Faunus often exchanges Mount Lycaeus for my Mount Lucretilis, and always keeps the fiery sun of summer and the rainy winds away from my nanny-goats.

Unharmed, through the safety of the grove, the wandering wives of their odorous husband, they seek the hidden wild strawberries and thyme;

and my little she-kids have no fear of the green snakes or of Mars’s wolves

whenever the dells and gentle rocky slopes of Ustica have resounded, Tyndaris, to Faunus’s sweet pipes.

The gods protect me, my reverence and my muse are close to their hearts.

Here, for you, rich abundance in all the fullness of the blessings of the countryside will flow from a friendly horn of plenty;

here, in this secluded valley, you will shelter from the dog-days’ blazing heat, and sing to Anacreon’s lyre of Penelope and sea-green Circe, and their sufferings over the same man;

here, under the shade, you will drain cups of harmless Lesbian wine: Bacchus will not join with Mars to start battles, and you need have no fear of coming under Cyrus’s suspicions, and that he will lose control, lay hands on you – grave mismatch! – and tear your undeserving dress and the garland set in your hair.

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