Classic Poem

Ode 1.22

TRANSLATES IN ITS OWN CLASSIC MEASURES

He who has lived a blameless life and pure one
Needs naught of Moorish bows or mighty javelins,
Needs neither armored plates nor poisoned arrows,
Fuscus, to shield him,
Whether he roams beside the shoals of Libya,
Or through the barren Caucasus he wanders—
Even in lands where, glorious in fable,
Rolls the Hydaspes …
Once in the Sabine woods a wolf beheld me
Strolling about unarmed. He heard me singing,
Singing a song of Lalage—and sudden
The creature vanished.
Direst of monsters! Such a savage terror
Lurks not within the deepest woods of Daunia;
Juba itself, the land that fosters lions,
Breeds naught so frightful.
Oh, place me amid icy desolation,
Where not a tree is cheered by sunny breezes,
Where Jove himself is only seen in sullen
Sleet and gray weather;
Or place me where the very Sun's great chariot
Drives over me in lands that burn and wither—
Still Lalage's sweet words and sweeter laughter
Always shall rouse me.English