greek&roman

  Diffugere Nives   (Horace,   Odes   IV.vii) by A. E. Housman The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws And grasses in the mead renew their birth, The river to the river-bed withdraws, And altered is the fashion of the earth. The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear And unapparelled in the woodland play. The swift hour and the brief prime of the year Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye. Thaw follows frost; hard on the heel of spring Treads summer sure to die, for hard on hers Comes autumn with his apples scattering; Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs. But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar, Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams; Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams. Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add The morrow to the day, what tongue has told? Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had The fingers of no heir will ever hold. When thou descendest once the shades among, The stern...

 

Horace, Odes Book II.XX (Johnson) Now with no weak  unballast   wing A poet double-form’d I rise, From th’envious world with scorn I spring, And cut with joy the wondering skies. Though from no princes I descend, Yet shall I see the blest abodes, Yet, great  Maecenas   shall your friend Quaff nectar with th’immortal Gods. See! how the mighty change is wrought! See how  whatre   remain’d of man By plumes is veil’d; see! quick as thought I pierce the clouds a tuneful swan. Swifter than  Icarus  I’ll fly Where  Lybias   swarthy offspring burns, And where beneath th’inclement skis The hardy  Scythian  ever mourns. My works shall propagate my fame, To distant realms and climes unknown, Nations shall celebrate my name That drink the  Phasis or the Rhone . Restrain your tears and cease your cries, Nor grace with fading flours my hearse. I without funeral elegies Shall live forever in my verse. Horace, Odes Book II.XX (Johnson) No...

  Book VII :73 Tell me, Maximus You’ve a house on the Esquiline, house on the Aventine, and Patrician Street owns a roof of yours too; add one with a view of poor Cybele’s shrine, one Vesta’s, one Jupiter’s old, one his new. Tell me where to meet you, tell me where to find you: Who lives everywhere, Maximus, lives nowhere at all.

  Ode I. 11 TRANSLATED BY BURTON RAFFEL Leucon, no one’s allowed to know his fate, Not you, not me: don’t ask, don’t hunt for answers In tea leaves or palms. Be patient with whatever comes. This could be our last winter, it could be many More, pounding the Tuscan Sea on these rocks: Do what you must, be wise, cut your vines And forget about hope. Time goes running, even As we talk. Take the present, the future’s no one’s affair.

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