Ode 4.9
Lest chance the words ephemeral you deem
That, set to measures for the lyric string,
I, born by Aufidus, far-sounding stream,
With art that none before me practised sing:
Look, if first place Maeonian Homer hold,
Yet Pindar's and the Cean muse are not
Lost to us, nor Alcaeus, champion bold,
And solemn-toned Stesichorus forgot.
Nor aught of old Anacreon's playful wit
Has time erased. The love yet breathes, the fire
Burns brightly, that in odes by passion lit
The Aeolian maid confided to her lyre.
Not for a guilty lover's beauty vain
Of glistening locks, dazzled by raiment fine
With gold besprent, and royal state and train,
Alone of wives did Spartan Helen pine.
Not first was Teucer arrows to let loose
From bow of Cydon. Not once only fell
A Troy. Not only huge Idomeneus
And Sthenelus feats for Muses fit to tell
In battle wrought. Not Hector stout of heart
And keen Deiphobus were the first their foes
To meet, and suffer, struggling on the part
Of their chaste wives and children, grievous blows.
There lived brave men ere Agamemnon's days
In plenty; but no meed of tear or sigh
Is theirs: for lack of poet's hallowing praise
Unknown 'neath night's eternal gloom they lie.
Brief distance parts from buried cowardice
Valour left unrecorded. Ne'er, I vow,
Shall you through silence in my pages miss
Due honour; tamely ne'er will I allow.
Lollius, your many services to be
A prey to envious forgetfulness.
A soul you have well gifted to foresee
Events, and nor in danger nor success
Its balance lose, to avenge dishonest greed,
And from the all-tempter, gold, to stand aloof—
The soul of one not for a year indeed
Consul, but oft as in just judgements proof
Of honour set before expedience
He gave, the guilty's bribes with haughty frown
Flung back, and, breaking through the foes' defence,
Pressed on, his arms with victory to crown.
The owner of great riches for the name
Of happy man not rightly will you choose.
More rightly he true happiness will claim,
Who the gods' gifts knows wisely how to use,
Who can of poverty with patience bear
The ills, and dreads as worse than death disgrace.
He for the friends he loves contending ne'er
Will shrink, or for his country, death to face.
That, set to measures for the lyric string,
I, born by Aufidus, far-sounding stream,
With art that none before me practised sing:
Look, if first place Maeonian Homer hold,
Yet Pindar's and the Cean muse are not
Lost to us, nor Alcaeus, champion bold,
And solemn-toned Stesichorus forgot.
Nor aught of old Anacreon's playful wit
Has time erased. The love yet breathes, the fire
Burns brightly, that in odes by passion lit
The Aeolian maid confided to her lyre.
Not for a guilty lover's beauty vain
Of glistening locks, dazzled by raiment fine
With gold besprent, and royal state and train,
Alone of wives did Spartan Helen pine.
Not first was Teucer arrows to let loose
From bow of Cydon. Not once only fell
A Troy. Not only huge Idomeneus
And Sthenelus feats for Muses fit to tell
In battle wrought. Not Hector stout of heart
And keen Deiphobus were the first their foes
To meet, and suffer, struggling on the part
Of their chaste wives and children, grievous blows.
There lived brave men ere Agamemnon's days
In plenty; but no meed of tear or sigh
Is theirs: for lack of poet's hallowing praise
Unknown 'neath night's eternal gloom they lie.
Brief distance parts from buried cowardice
Valour left unrecorded. Ne'er, I vow,
Shall you through silence in my pages miss
Due honour; tamely ne'er will I allow.
Lollius, your many services to be
A prey to envious forgetfulness.
A soul you have well gifted to foresee
Events, and nor in danger nor success
Its balance lose, to avenge dishonest greed,
And from the all-tempter, gold, to stand aloof—
The soul of one not for a year indeed
Consul, but oft as in just judgements proof
Of honour set before expedience
He gave, the guilty's bribes with haughty frown
Flung back, and, breaking through the foes' defence,
Pressed on, his arms with victory to crown.
The owner of great riches for the name
Of happy man not rightly will you choose.
More rightly he true happiness will claim,
Who the gods' gifts knows wisely how to use,
Who can of poverty with patience bear
The ills, and dreads as worse than death disgrace.
He for the friends he loves contending ne'er
Will shrink, or for his country, death to face.
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