Hence, loathed uninitiate crowd profane!
And all keep reverent silence, hearkening
To me, the Muses' priest, that now a strain
Unheard before to maids and children sing.
O'er kings, each of his flock the dreaded lord,
Jove reigns lord paramount, most glorious god,
Who triumphed o'er the rebel giant horde,
Who moveth all creation with his nod.
One man may pass another in extent
Of ordered vineyard; one may be preferred
By voters for illustrious descent;
On his true worth and spotless fame a third,
Or multitude of clients may rely;
Impartial destiny from out the urn
Wherein all names are gathered, low and high,
Casts forth the appointed lot for each in turn.
On him who sees hang o'er his guilty head
A naked sword Sicilian feasts will pall,
Though exquisitely flavoured; to his bed
Nor singing birds nor lute will sleep recall.
Sleep, gentle comforter, turns not away
From peasant's chamber in the low-browed cot.
He shady banks, and Tempe's vale where play
Cool breezes from the west disdaineth not.
Whoso ne'er covets aught beyond his need,
No anxious thought to him the sea supplies,
When swoln by angry tempests that succeed
Arcturus' setting or the Kid-star's rise,
Nor vineyards bruised by hail, nor orchard farm
That for its promise unfulfilled now casts
The blame on floods, now on the stars that harm
By drought, and now on winter's chilly blasts.
The fish are into narrower waters penned,
While down huge concrete blocks and rubble stone
The builder's gang, estate slaves aiding, send;
And o'er them stands the owner weary grown
Of the dry land. But clamber where he will,
Fear and forebodings clamber by his side.
Black care is in the brazen galley still
At hand, and doth behind the horseman ride.
But if nor Phrygian marble, nor the wear,
More brilliant than a star, of purples fine
Can ease to sickness or affliction bear,
Nor Persian spikenard, nor Falernian vine,
Why build a lofty hall in the new style
With portals wide to challenge envy's gaze?
My Sabine vale why barter for a pile
Of wealth that with more toil will load the days?
And all keep reverent silence, hearkening
To me, the Muses' priest, that now a strain
Unheard before to maids and children sing.
O'er kings, each of his flock the dreaded lord,
Jove reigns lord paramount, most glorious god,
Who triumphed o'er the rebel giant horde,
Who moveth all creation with his nod.
One man may pass another in extent
Of ordered vineyard; one may be preferred
By voters for illustrious descent;
On his true worth and spotless fame a third,
Or multitude of clients may rely;
Impartial destiny from out the urn
Wherein all names are gathered, low and high,
Casts forth the appointed lot for each in turn.
On him who sees hang o'er his guilty head
A naked sword Sicilian feasts will pall,
Though exquisitely flavoured; to his bed
Nor singing birds nor lute will sleep recall.
Sleep, gentle comforter, turns not away
From peasant's chamber in the low-browed cot.
He shady banks, and Tempe's vale where play
Cool breezes from the west disdaineth not.
Whoso ne'er covets aught beyond his need,
No anxious thought to him the sea supplies,
When swoln by angry tempests that succeed
Arcturus' setting or the Kid-star's rise,
Nor vineyards bruised by hail, nor orchard farm
That for its promise unfulfilled now casts
The blame on floods, now on the stars that harm
By drought, and now on winter's chilly blasts.
The fish are into narrower waters penned,
While down huge concrete blocks and rubble stone
The builder's gang, estate slaves aiding, send;
And o'er them stands the owner weary grown
Of the dry land. But clamber where he will,
Fear and forebodings clamber by his side.
Black care is in the brazen galley still
At hand, and doth behind the horseman ride.
But if nor Phrygian marble, nor the wear,
More brilliant than a star, of purples fine
Can ease to sickness or affliction bear,
Nor Persian spikenard, nor Falernian vine,
Why build a lofty hall in the new style
With portals wide to challenge envy's gaze?
My Sabine vale why barter for a pile
Of wealth that with more toil will load the days?