Horace, Ode 1.11

by Michael Gilleland

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Synopsis (by C.H. Moore): "Leuconoe, give up trying to learn the secrets of the future. Be wise, do thy daily task, and live to-day; time is swiftly flying."

  Text Crib
 
 
 
 
5 		Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quicquid erit, pati,
seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum: sapias, uina liques, et spatio breui
spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit inuida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. 		Don't ask (it's forbidden to know) what final fate the gods have
given to me and you, Leuconoe, and don't consult Babylonian
horoscopes. How much better it is to accept whatever shall be,
whether Jupiter has given many more winters or whether this is the
last one, which now breaks the force of the Tuscan sea against the
facing cliffs. Be wise, strain the wine, and trim distant hope within
short limits. While we're talking, grudging time will already
have fled: seize the day, trusting as little as possible in tomorrow.

Notes:

1 It's better not to know the future:

2 Babylonia is traditionally known as the cradle of astrology, the practice of which was viewed with scepticism or hostility by some, e.g.

On the other hand, others viewed astrology seriously or favorably:

3 We must endure whatever befalls us:

4 A single season is sometimes used (as a part of the whole) to designate a year:

The scene (winter without, wine within) recalls

5 Literally, Horace says that the winter storm "weakens" (debilitat) the sea. There are two perspectives:

6 Located off the west coast of Italy, the "Mare Tyrrhenum" (Tyrrhenian, i.e. Tuscan, Sea) is also known as "Mare Inferum" (lower sea), as opposed to the Adriatic Sea, which is the "Mare Superum" (upper sea).

Wine was strained to get rid of the lees. See W.A. Becker, Gallus, or Roman Scenes of the Time of Augustus, tr. Frederick Metcalfe (London: Longmans, 1895), pp. 489-491. The most common ways of straining were through a linen bag (saccus) or metal sieve (colum). Snow might be placed in the sieve, to cool the wine as it was being strained. Photos of ancient metal wine strainers on the World Wide Web include:

7 It's foolish to make long-range plans:

8 It's better to enjoy the present moment:

Survival:

Thomas Hawkins

The following translation by Thomas Hawkins was published in The Poems of Horace ... Rendred in English Verse by Several Persons (London, 1666), p. 18: 
Strive not (Leuconoe) to know what end
The Gods above to me or thee will send:
Nor with Astrologers consult at all,
That thou may'st better know what can befall.
Whether, thou liv'st more winters, or thy last
Be this, which Tyrrhen waves 'gainst rocks do cast;
Be wise, drink free, and in so short a space,
Do not protracted hopes of life embrace.
Whilest we are talking, envious Time doth slide;
This day's thine own, the next may be deny'd.

Samuel Woodford

The following translation by by Samuel Woodford was published in The Poems of Horace ... Rendred in English Verse by Several Persons (London, 1666), p. 18: 
Ne're strive, Leoconoe, ne're strive to know
What Fates decreed for thee and mee, nor goe
To an Astrologer; 'tis half the cure,
When Ill, to think it will not long endure:
Whether Jove will another Winter give,
Or whether 'tis your last that now you live;
Be wise, and since you have not long to stay,
Fool not with tedious hopes your life away.
Time, while we speak on't flyes; now banish sorrow,
Live well to day, and never trust to morrow.

Arthur Hugh Clough

In the following translation, published in The Classical Museum 4 (1847) 356, the English poet Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861) reproduced the original meter of Horace's ode: 
Seek not thou to enquire, (who can reveal?) when, my Leuconoe,
For us either an end Heaven has assigned; nor Babylonian
Numbers seek to essay! Far better is't, what shall arrive, to bear!
Whether yet to recur or as a last Jupiter ordereth
This, now raging amain over the rocks in the Tyrrhenian sea,
Stern wild winter; enough, clear me the wine, and from a narrow life
Long hopes cut thou away. Talk we the while, lo the penurious hour
Flies past. Sure of to-day, credit in nought unto to-morrow give.

William Ewart Gladstone

British Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone (1809-1898) made the following translation of Horace's ode: 
Oh ask thou not, 't is sin to know, what time to me, to thee
The gods allot: Chaldean tricks eschew, Leuconoë.
How better far to face our fate; be other winters yet
Ordained for us by Jove, or this the last, now sternly set
To weary out by fronting rocks the angry Tuscan main.
True wisdom learn. Decant the wine. Far-reaching schemes restrain.
Our span is brief. The niggard hour, in chatting, ebbs away;
Trust nothing for to-morrow's sun: make harvest of to-day.

John Conington

John Conington (1825-1869) was the first Corpus Professor of Latin at Oxford University. Here is his translation of Horace's Ode 1.11. 
Ask not ('tis forbidden knowledge), what our destined term of years,
Mine and yours; nor scan the tables of your Babylonish seers.
Better far to bear the future, my Leuconoe, like the past,
Whether Jove has many winters yet to give, or this our last;
THIS, that makes the Tyrrhene billows spend their strength against the shore.
Strain your wine and prove your wisdom; life is short; should hope be more?
In the moment of our talking, envious time has ebb'd away.
Seize the present; trust to-morrow e'en as little as you may.

Charles Stuart Calverley

English poet Charles Stuart Calverley (1831-1884) translated this ode in his Verses and Translations (1862): 
Seek not, for thou shalt not find it, what my end, what thine shall be;
Ask not of Chaldaea's science what God wills, Leuconoë:
Better far, what comes, to bear it. Haply many a wintry blast
Waits thee still; and this, it may be, Jove ordains to be thy last,
Which flings now the flagging sea-wave on the obstinate sandstone-reef.
Be thou wise; fill up the wine-cup; shortening, since the time is brief,
Hopes that reach into the future. While I speak, hath stolen away
Jealous Time. Mistrust to-morrow, catch the blossom of To-day.

Thomas Charles Baring

The following translation by Thomas Charles Baring (1831-1891) can be found, with the title "Use Today, Forget Tomorrow," in The Complete Works of Horace, edited with an introduction by Casper J. Kraemer, Jr. (New York: Random House, 1936), p. 143. I am indebted to D.G. Jones for sending me Baring's translation. 
Ask not, 't is not right to know it, 
What last end for thee and me
Heaven has set, nor Babylonian
Numbers try, Leuconöe.

Better, whate'er comes, to bear it;
Whether many winters more
We shall see, or this our last be,
Which along the Etruscan shore
 
Hurls the waves in spray to perish
On the shifting shingly beach.
If thou'rt wise thou'lt quaff, and quickly
Grasp the hope within thy reach.
 
Even now, whilst we are talking,
Grudging time pursues his flight:
Use today, and trust as little
As thou mayst tomorrow's light.

Edward Arlington Robinson

The American poet Edward Arlington Robinson (1869-1935) translated Horace's ode in the form of a sonnet, "Horace to Leuconoe", in his collection The Children of the Night (1897): 
I pray you not, Leuconoe, to pore 
With unpermitted eyes on what may be 
Appointed by the gods for you and me, 
Nor on Chaldean figures any more. 
'T were infinitely better to implore 
The present only: -- whether Jove decree 
More winters yet to come, or whether he 
Make even this, whose hard, wave-eaten shore 
Shatters the Tuscan seas to-day, the last -- 
Be wise withal, and rack your wine, nor fill 
Your bosom with large hopes; for while I sing, 
The envious close of time is narrowing; -- 
So seize the day, -- or ever it be past, -- 
And let the morrow come for what it will.

Austin Dobson

English poet Austin Dobson (1840-1924) translated Horace's ode in the form of a villanelle. 
Seek not, O Maid, to know
(Alas! unblest the trying!)
When thou and I must go.

No lore of stars can show.
What shall be, vainly prying,
Seek not, O Maid, to know.

Will Jove long years bestow?--
Or is't with this one dying,
That thou and I must go,

Now,--when the great winds blow,
And waves the reef are plying?
Seek not, O Maid, to know.

Rather let clear wine flow,
On no vain hope relying;
When thou and I must go

Lies dark;--then let it be so.
Now,--now, churl Time is flying;
Seek not, O Maid, to know
When thou and I must go.

Eugene Field

In Echoes from the Sabine Farm (NY: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1920), there are two versions of Horace's Ode 1.11, one by American poet and journalist Eugene Field (1850-1895) and the other by his brother Roswell Martin Field.

Here is a humorous adaptation by Eugene Field: 

Seek not, Leuconoë, to know how long you’re going to live yet,
What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they’re going to give yet;
For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we worry,--
Some will hang on for many a day, and some die in a hurry.
The wisest thing for you to do is to embark this diem
Upon a merry escapade with some such bard as I am.
And while we sport I'll reel you off such odes as shall surprise ye;
To-morrow, when the headache comes,--well, then I'll satirize ye!

Here is the translation by Roswell Martin Field: 

What end the gods may have ordained for me,
And what for thee,
 Seek not to learn, Leuconoë, — we may not know.
Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest.
'T is for the best 
 To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe. 

If for more winters our poor lot is cast,
Or this the last,
 Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etruscan seas,
Strain clear the wine; this life is short, at best.
Take hope with zest, 
 And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch To-day for ease!

George O. Trevelyan

There is a parody of Horace's ode by historian George O. Trevelyan (1838-1928), which is quoted in part by Shorey and Laing in their commentary: 
Matilda, will you ne'er have ceased
Apocalyptic summing,
And left the number of the beast
To puzzle Doctor Cumming?
...
And book for me the fifteenth valse; there just beneath my thumb,
No, not the next to that, my girl! The next may never come.
Unfortunately, I can't find Trevelyan's parody in its entirety.

G.M. and G.F. Whicher

G.M. and G.F. Whicher also translated Horace's ode in the form of a sonnet, "To Leuconoë, That She Should not Ask Her Fate", in their collection On the Tibur Road (1912): 
Seek not to learn, for thou canst never know,
    How many years of life to thee or me
    The gods above will grant, Leuconoë,
    Nor trust what Chaldee calculations show.
Far better to endure what fates bestow,
    Should they more winters give, or should this be
    The last, that dashes now the Tuscan sea
    Tempestuous on the cliffs with angry blow.

Be wise: draw off the wine; without delay
    Proportion thy high hopes to life's brief span.
    E'en while we're speaking, envious Time has gone
Beyond recall. Thine is the present day,
    Grasp it, enjoy it now, nor trust the plan
    Of leaving aught until the morrow's dawn.

William Sinclair Marris

William Sinclair Marris (1873-1945) was a governor of the United Provinces of British India. He was also a translator of Homer, Catullus, and the odes of Horace. Here is his translation of Ode 1.11: 
Forbear to ask, Leuconoe, for this no man may know,
What term of life the gods have set for thee and me: forgo
Thy Babylonian cyphers: better bide whate'er befall,
Come many winters yet from Jove, or this the last of all

To fling the tired Tyrrhenian sea upon the crannied reef.
If thou art wise, then strain the wine. The span of life is brief;
So prune thy far out-reaching hopes -- the while we speak has run
One niggard minute: clutch today, and trust no morrow's sun.

Franklin P. Adams

American man of letters Franklin P. Adams (1881-1960) made at least three clever translations of this ode. In Tobogganing on Parnassus (1911) he translated it thus: 
It is not right for you to know, so do not ask, Leuconoe,
How long a life the gods may give or ever we are gone away;
Try not to read the Final Page, the ending colophonian,
Trust not the gypsy's tea-leaves, nor the prophets Babylonian.
Better to have what is to come enshrouded in obscurity
Than to be certain of the sort and length of our futurity.
Why, even as I monologue on wisdom and longevity
How Time has flown! Spear some of it! The longest life is brevity.
In Something Else Again (1920), he published two more imitations, under the titles "Present Imperative" and "On the Flight of Time": 
    Present Imperative

Nay query not, Leuconoë, the finish of the fable; 
Eliminate the worry as to what the years may hoard! 
You only waste your time upon the Babylonian Table-- 
(Slang for the ouija board).

And as to whether Jupiter, the final, unsurpassed one, 
May add a lot of winters to our portion here below, 
Or this impinging season is to be our very last one-- 
Really, I'd hate to know.

Apply yourself to wisdom! Sweep the floor and wash the dishes, 
Nor dream about the things you'll do in 1928! 
My counsel is to cease to sit and yearn about your wishes, 
Cursing the throws of fate.

My! how I have been chattering on matters sad and pleasant! 
(Endure with me a moment while I polish off a rhyme). 
If I were you, I think, I'd bother only with the present-- 
Now is the only time. 


    On the Flight of Time

Look not, Leuconoë, into the future; 
  Seek not to find what the answer may be; 
Let no Chaldean clairvoyant compute your 
  Time of existence. . . . It irritates me!

Better to bear whatever may happen soever 
  Patiently, playing it through like a sport, 
Whether the end of your breathing is Never, 
  Or, as is likely, your time will be short.

This is the angle, the true situation; 
  Get me, I pray, for I'm putting you hep: 
While I've been fooling with versification 
  Time has been flying. . . . Both gates! 
  Watch your step!

Walter Baumann

In the following translation, which appears here by the kind permission of the author, the goal was to combine unstilted English with fidelity to the original metre. 
Don't ask, Leuconoe! What business have you and/or I to know  
When death comes from the gods? Neither consult soothsayers and the like!
So much better to take whatever comes, whether this winter is
One of many that Jove's given us, or whether we're seeing for    
One more time how the sea batters the cliffs, how they are tumbling down.
Let's be wise above all, get out the wine, and never make big plans!    
Let small hopes be enough! While we two speak, time, reckless time, flies by. 
So seize this very day, and never count on what the future holds.