Synopsis (by C.H. Moore): "Peace is the prayer of all men -- the sailor on the stormy sea, the warlike Thracian and Mede. Peace thou canst not buy. Neither wealth nor power will drive away men's wretched cares. He only lives well who lives on little, undistressed by fear or greed. Why should we move from land to land and put forth our weak efforts? Care follows hard upon us. No, life is mingled sweet and bitter, and all things have their compensation. Perhaps the flitting hour gives me something thou hast not. For thee an hundred herds low, thou hast thy stud and royal purple; yet I possess my little farm, a slight inspiration for Greek verse, and the power to scorn the envious."
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Otium diuos rogat in patenti prensus Aegaeo, simul atra nubes condidit lunam neque certa fulgent sidera nautis; |
The man caught in the open Aegean sea asks the gods for peace, as soon as a dark cloud has hidden the moon, and the stars with sure light don't gleam for sailors; |
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5 |
otium bello furiosa Thrace, otium Medi pharetra decori, Grosphe, non gemmis neque purpura ue- nale neque auro. |
Thrace, crazy for war, [asks for] peace, the Medes, adorned with the quiver, [ask for] peace, Grosphus, which cannot be bought for jewels, purple, or gold. |
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10 |
Non enim gazae neque consularis submouet lictor miseros tumultus mentis et curas laqueata circum tecta uolantis. |
For neither treasures nor a consul's attendant gets rid of sad disturbances of mind or cares which flit around panelled ceilings. |
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15 |
Viuitur paruo bene cui paternum splendet in mensa tenui salinum nec leuis somnos timor aut cupido sordidus aufert. |
He lives well on little, whose ancestral salt cellar shines on his frugal table, and whose slumbers vain fear and unseemly desire don't disturb. |
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20 |
Quid breui fortes iaculamur aeuo multa? quid terras alio calentis sole mutamus? patriae quis exsul se quoque fugit? |
Why do we bravely aim at many things, despite our life's short span? Why do we trade [our homes for] lands warmed by another sun? What expatriate escapes himself as well? |
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Scandit aeratas uitiosa nauis cura nec turmas equitum relinquit, ocior ceruis et agente nimbos ocior Euro. |
Spoiling care climbs bronze ships, and doesn't abandon squadrons of cavalry. It's swifter than stags and swifter than the east wind which pushes the clouds. |
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25 |
Laetus in praesens animus quod ultra est oderit curare, et amara lento temperet risu: nihil est ab omni parte beatum. |
Let the mind which is happy in the present refuse to concern itself with what's beyond, and let it soften what's harsh with a quiet smile: nothing is perfect from every angle. |
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30 |
Abstulit clarum cita mors Achillem, longa Tithonum minuit senectus, et mihi forsan tibi quod negarit porriget hora. |
Quick death snatched away famed Achilles, unending old age wore down Tithonus, and to me perchance the [passing] hour will grant what it will refuse to you. |
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35 |
Te greges centum Siculaeque circum mugiunt uaccae, tibi tollit hinnitum apta quadrigis equa, te bis Afro murice tinctae |
A hundred flocks and Sicilian cows moo in a circle around you, for you the filly fit for chariots raises a whinny, wools twice dipped in African dye |
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40 |
uestiunt lanae: mihi parua rura et spiritum Graiae tenuem Camenae Parca non mendax dedit et malignum spernere uolgus. |
clothe you: to me undeceiving Fate has given a small farm, a slight talent for Greek poetry, and [the power] to scorn the envious crowd. |
1 To a world weary of civil war, otium (peace) was welcome.
With the threefold repetition of the word otium, Horace is recalling the last stanza of Catullus 51 (lines 13-16): "Peace, Catullus, is troublesome to you. You revel in peace and long for it. In the past peace has destroyed kings and rich cities." (otium, Catulle, tibi molestum est: / otio exsultas nimiumque gestis. / otium et reges prius et beatas / perdidit urbes).
But whereas Catullus regards peace (almost in the sense of idleness or indolence) as dangerous, for Horace it is a blessing.
In general, ancient mariners tended to avoid the open sea whenever possible and to hug the coastlines instead. This made navigation easier -- there were manuals for seafarers, such as the 1st century BC Periplus Maris Erythraei ("Circuit of the Red Sea"), which were organized by the ports of call along coastlines. Besides, it was safer -- land was not so far off in case of a storm.
3 Without instruments such as the compass and sextant, ancient mariners depended heavily on stars for navigation, and could get lost when clouds made the stars invisible. Tibullus 1.9.10: "Sure stars lead unsteady ships" (ducunt instabiles sidera certa rates).
5 Thrace, in the eastern Balkans, was closely connected with the war god Mars (or his Greek counterpart Ares).
6 Media, the mountainous region south-west of the Caspian Sea, was often under the control of Parthia, and the ethnic terms Medes and Parthians were often used interchangeably by the Romans. The Medes and Parthians were famous for their skill with bow and arrow. Even when retreating on horseback, the Parthians shot at their pursuers, as the Romans learned to their peril at the disastrous battle of Carrhae (53 BC), when the Roman general Crassus was defeated by the Parthians. The first three books of Horace's odes were published by 23 BC, but in 20 BC Augustus "forced the Parthians to return the spoils and standards of three Roman armies and to seek as suppliants the friendship of the Roman people" (Achievements of the Divine Augustus, 29.2; cf. 32.2).
7 Pompeius Grosphus was a wealthy Sicilian landowner, mentioned also by Horace in Epistles 1.12.22-23.
9 Wealth and power don't remove cares.
13 The good life is possible with few possessions.
14 The untarnished salt-cellar is the symbol of a modest sufficiency, as opposed to ostentatious wealth.
17 Since our life is so short, it is foolish to make plans which may never be fulfilled.
On the other hand, Cicero viewed fame and glory after death as worth striving for in this life, as he argued in his speech in defense of the poet Archias (11.28): "For virtue seeks no other reward for struggles and dangers beyond the reward of praise and glory. Remove this, and what reason is there for us to exert ourselves in such great struggles during such a short and narrow span of life?" (nullam enim uirtus aliam mercedem laborum periculorumque desiderat praeter hanc laudis et gloriae; qua quidem detracta, iudices, quid est quod in hoc tam exiguo uitae curriculo et tam breui tantis nos in laboribus exerceamus?").
With the word iaculamur (literally, "we throw a javelin at"), Horace puns on his friend's name. In Greek, grosphos is a javelin.
19 They who travel or move about to escape their troubles find that their troubles accompany them wherever they go.
21 Ancient warships were equipped with a sharp bronze-clad "ram" on the prow at or below the waterline, and so by extension the entire ship could be described as bronze. With the ram, sailors tried to puncture the hull of enemy ships, and then withdraw. This maneuver was known in Greek as diekplous (sailing through). It sometimes happened that the ram got stuck in the enemy ship, which dragged the attacking ship underwater with it as it sank.
23-24 Care (cura) is described as swift because you can't outrun or escape it, no matter how fast you are.
27 Quintilian 1.2.15: "For, as a rule, what is pleasing in every respect?" (nam quid fere undique placet?).
29 Homer, Iliad 9.410-416 (spoken by Achilles):
For my mother, the silver-footed goddess Thetis, tells meAchilles chose the first of the two fates -- quick death and undying fame.
that two-fold fates are bearing me towards the doom of death.
If staying here I wage battle around the city of the Trojans,
my return home is lost, but my fame will not perish;
but if I go home to my dear fatherland,
my noble fame is lost, but long-lasting my life
will be, and the doom of death will not soon find me.
30 Tithonus was granted eternal life, but not eternal youth.
35 Mares were preferred for horse racing.
Purple clothing was a status symbol in ancient times. An expensive purple dye was made from the shellfish murex. Even more extravagant was dipping the cloth twice in such an expensive dye.
38 Horace's boast was that he introduced Greek rhythms to Latin poetry.
39 Horace calls Fate "not deceitful" (non mendax), i.e. truthful. The decrees of the Parcae (Fates) are unalterable.
Richard Fanshawe (1608-1664) was an ambassador from England to Spain and Portugal. He also translated selections from Horace and Vergil. Here is his version of Ode 2.16:
Quiet! the trembling Merchant cries,
Into Egean Seas driven far:
When the Moon winks, and he descries
No guiding star.
Quiet! in war the Thracian bold;
Quiet! the Mede with quivers dight;
Not to be bought with gems, nor gold,
Nor purple bright.
For 'tis not wealth, nor armed troops,
Can tumult of the mind remove,
And cares, which about fretted roofs
Hover above.
His little's much, whose thrifty board
Shines with a salt that was his sire's:
Whose easie sleeps nor fears disturb
Nor base desires.
Why in short life eternal care?
Why changing for another Sun?
Who having sun'd his native air,
Himself should shun?
Take horse, rude Care will ride behind;
Embarque, into your ship she crouds:
Fleeter than stags, and the East-wind
Chasing the Clouds.
Let minds of any joy possest,
Sweeten with that whatever gall
Is mixt. No soul that ere was blest,
Was blest in all.
The fam'd Achilles timeless dy'd,
Old Tithon did his bliss outlive,
And Chance, what she to thee deny'd
To me may give.
A hundred flocks about thee bleat,
And fair Sicilian heifers low;
To thee large neighing mares curvete:
In scarlet thou,
Twice-dipt, art clad. Indulgent fate
Gave me a grange; a versing vein;
A heart which (injur'd) cannot hate
But can disdain.
James Boswell (1740-1795), Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, 8 September 1773, describes an episode which occurred when he and his friend Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) were crossing from the Isle of Skye to Rasay in rough seas:
I called to him, "We are contending with seas;" which I think were the words of one of his letters to me. "Not much," said he; and though the wind made the sea lash considerably upon us, he was not discomposed. After we were out of the shelter of Scalpa, and in the sound between it and Rasay, which extended about a league, the wind made the sea very rough. I did not like it. -- Johnson. "This now is the Atlantick. If I should tell at a tea table in London, that I have crossed the Atlantick in an open boat, how they'd shudder, and what a fool they'd think me to expose myself to such danger?" He then repeated Horace's ode,Otium Divos rogat in patenti
Prensus Aegaeo --
This ode was translated by the English poet William Cowper (1731-1800):
Ease is the weary merchant's pray'r, Who plows by night th'Aegean flood, When neither moon nor stars appear, Or faintly glimmer through the cloud. For ease the Mede with quiver grac'd, For ease the Thracian hero sighs, Delighful ease all pant to taste, A blessing which no treasure buys. For neither gold can lull to rest, Nor all a Consul's guard beat off The tumults of a troubled breast, The cares that haunt a gilded roof. Happy the man whose table shows A few clean ounces of old plate; Nor fear intrudes upon his repose, No sordid wishes to be great. Poor short-liv'd things, what plans we lay! Ah, why forsake our native home! To distant climates speed away; For self sticks close where'er we roam! Care follows hard; and soon o'ertakes The well-rigged ship, the warlike steed, Her destin'd quarry ne'er forsakes, Nor the wind flies with half her speed. From anxious fears of future ill Guard well the cheerful happy Now; Gild ev'n your sorrows with a smile, No blessing is unmix'd below. Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds, Thy num'rous flocks around thee graze, And the best purple Tyre affords Thy robe magnificent displays. On me indulgent Heav'n bestow'd A rural mansion, neat and small; This Lyre; -- and as for yonder crowd, The happiness to hate them all.
For ease prays he who in the wide Aegaean
Storm-seized, looks up on clouds that heap their darkness
O'er the lost moon, while dim the constellations
Fade from the sailor.
Ease, still for ease, sighs Thracia fierce in battle,
Still for ease sighs the quivered Mede. Ah, Grosphus!
Nor gems nor purple, no, nor gold can buy it;
Ease is not venal.
Bribed by no king, dispersed before no lictor,
Throng the wild tumults of a soul in trouble,
And the cares circling round a sleepless pillow,
Under ceil'd fretwork.
He lives on little well who, for all splendour,
Decks his plain board with some prized silver heirloom.
From him no greed of gain, of loss no terror,
Snatch the light slumbers.
Why, briefly strong, with space in time thus bounded,
Launch we so many arrows into distance?
Why crave new suns? What exile from his country
Flies himself also?
Diseased Care ascends the brazen galley,
And rides amidst the armed men to the battle,
Fleeter than stag, and fleeter than, when driving
Rain-clouds, the east wind.
The mind, which now is glad, should hate to carry
Its care beyond the Present; what is bitter
With easy smile should sweeten: nought was ever
Happy on all sides.
Untimely death snatched off renowned Achilles;
Tithonus lived to dwindle into shadow;
And haply what the Hour to thee shall grant not
Me it will profer.
Around thine home a hundred flocks are bleating,
Low the Sicilian heifers, neighs the courser
Trained to the race-car; woofs in Afric purple
Twice tinged array thee:
To me the Fate, that cannot err, hath given
Some roods of land, some breathings, lowly murmured,
Of Grecian Muse, and power to scorn the malice
Of the mean vulgar.
When clouds the moon with blackness shade, When stars refuse the sailors aid, Caught on the broad Aegean's breast The shipman prays the gods for rest. Rest, asks the Thracian, wild in fight; Rest, asks the Mede, with quiver bright; But rest, my Grosphus, is not sold For purple robe, or gems, or gold. Nor lictor in the consul's train Can stay the spirit's piteous pain, Nor wealth; nor drive the cares aloof That flit beneath the pannelled roof. A man, where shines on humble board The salt-box that his father stored, Lives well, though poor: no fears molest, Nor greed of gain, his nightly rest. Why strenuous, for our little time, To compass much? some other clime Than ours, why covet? Wander why From home? Ourselves we cannot fly. Grim Care the knightly train attends, Grim care the beaked ships ascends, Outstrips the stag, and the east wind, That chases clouds, leaves far behind. Eschew, with present joys content, The mind on forecast idly bent: Calm smiles the sourest chance can cheat; The sweetest is not wholly sweet. Achilles falls before his day; With years, Tithonus wastes away: The coming Hour to me may grant The very boon it bids thee want. Those hundred flocks, those Sikel kine Around thee lowing, are all thine: The neighing mare, in races tried, Robes twice in Afric's purple dyed, Thine too. A little farm to use, A faint breath of the Grecian muse, Me loyal Fate hath so endowed, And taught to spurn the carping crowd.
For ease, in wide Aegean caught,
The sailor prays, when clouds are hiding
The moon, nor shines of starlight aught
For seaman's guiding:
For ease the Mede, with quiver gay:
For ease rude Thrace, in battle cruel:
Can purple buy it, Grosphus? Nay,
Nor gold, nor jewel.
No pomp, no lictor clears the way
'Mid rabble-routs of troublous feelings,
Nor quells the cares that sport and play
Round gilded ceilings.
More happy he whose modest board
His father's well-worn silver brightens;
No fear, nor lust for sordid hoard,
His light sleep frightens.
Why bend our bows of little span?
Why change our homes for regions under
Another sun? What exiled man
From self can sunder?
Care climbs the bark, and trims the sail,
Curst fiend! nor troops of horse can 'scape her,
More swift than stag, more swift than gale
That drives the vapour.
Blest in the present, look not forth
On ills beyond, but soothe each bitter
With slow, calm smile. No suns on earth
Unclouded glitter.
Achilles' light was quench'd at noon;
A long decay Tithonus minish'd;
My hours, it may be, yet will run
When yours are finish'd.
For you Sicilian heifers low,
Bleat countless flocks; for you are neighing
Proud coursers; Afric purples glow
For your arraying
With double dyes; a small domain,
The soul that breathed in Grecian harping,
My portion these; and high disdain
Of ribald carping.
'Rest, rest!' so prays the wind-bound tar On Ocean's waste, when murk and wrack Bury the moon and show no star To guide him on his track. For rest prays Thracem with war distraught, And Medes whose quivers catch the sun; The rest that gold nor gems e'er bought, The rest no purples won. Nor lictors at the consul's heel Nor pomp and wealth can thrust aloof The soul's unrest, the cares that wheel Around a fretted roof. Then well with him, on whose plain board One bowl of antique silver gleams; No sordid terrors for his hoard Break on his easy dreams. Why aim our little bolts so high? Why haste to lands 'neath other suns? From fatherland a man may fly, From self he never runs. Black Trouble climbs the brazen ships And holds the troops of horse in chase, Swift as the stag, or wind that whips The driven clouds apace. Relish each hour and never care What lies beyond: with gentle jest Mellow the bitter things; for ne'er Was mortal wholly blest. Death took Achilles in his prime; Tithonus lingered wretchedly To wasting age. What thou from Time Hast missed, may fall to me. Thine are great herds of lowing kine And sheep; a mare that neighs her pride Doth draw thy car; thy raiment fine Is purple double-dyed. Yet Fate is true, and hath assigned To me a breath of Grecian song, Estate sufficient, and a mind To scorn the carping throng.
Grosphus, a guy who's sailing in a tempest
On the Aegean when the moon is hidden --
He wants a rest, while stewing in his stateroom,
Weary and seasick.
Weary of war, what do the Thracians yearn for?
What seek the Medes, with quivers full of arrows?
What can't you buy with purple, gold or rubies?
Rest is the answer.
Not Morgan's cash, nor Rockefeller's money,
No blue-and-brass can drive away the willies
Caused by the care of elegant apartments,
Rugs and swell ceilings.
Wise the gazabe upon whose simple table
Old-fashioned truck like salt-and-pepper castors
Yet may be found. His bean is never bothered --
Sleeps like a hallboy.
Why do we fuss for one thing and another?
Why do we hike to Saranac or Newport?
How can a human leave himself behind him?
Answer: He cannot.
Worry can get a guy on the Olympic;
Worry can chase a colonel in the Army;
Swift as the wind, to use a new expression --
Care is some sprinter.
Merry and bright, the citizen who's cheerful
Won't worry much about to-morrow's breakfast.
"No one," he smiles, "who faces Time the pitcher
Wallops one thousand."
There was Achilles, cut off in his twenties,
And, au contraire, Tithonus was a hundred;
I may be lucky; you might be run over
Most any morning.
You've got a farm with fancy sheep and heifers;
You've got a mare all curry-combed and glossy;
Purple silk socks and purple fancy weskits --
You're a swell dresser.
And what has Fate, the undeceitful, slipped me?
Only a small apartment out in Harlem,
And, with a trick of turning snappy Sapphics,
Scorn for the roughneck.