Sapphic Translation of Horace, Odes II.16

Tara Isa Koslov
Brown University

Otium divos rogat in patenti
presnsus Aegaeo, simul atra nubes
Condidit lunam neque certa fulgent
sidera nautis;

Otium bello furiosa Thrace,
otium Medi pharetra decori,
Grophe, non gemmis neque purpura ve-
nale neque auro.

Non enim gazae neque consularis
summovet lictor miseros tummultus
Mentis et curas laqueata circum
tecta volantis.

Vivitur parvo bene, cui paternum
splendet in mensa tenui salinum
Nec lavis somnos timor aut cupido
sordidus aufert.

Quid brevi fortes iaculamur aevo
multa? Quid terras alaio calentis
Sosle mutamus? Patriae quis exsul
se quoque fugit?

Scandit aeratas vitiosa navis
cura nec turmas equitum relinguit,
Ocior cervis et agenta nimbos
ocior Euro.

Laetus in praesens animus quod ultra est
oderit curare et amara lento
Temperet risu; nihil est ab omni
parte beatum.

Abstulit clarum cita mors Achillem,
longa Tithonum minuit senectus,
Et mihi forsan, tibi quod engarit,
porriget hora.

Te geges centum Siculaeque circum
mugiunt vaccae, tibi tollit hinnitum
Apta quadrigis equa, te bis afro
murice tinctae.

Vestiunt lanae: mihi parva rura et
spiritum Graiae tenuem Camenae
Parca non mendax dedit et malignum
spernere vulgus.

 

 

Blackening clouds are blocking nighttime's moonrays.
Sailors despair that stars don't point the sea-way.
One, overtaken on the vast Aegean
"God grant me peace," says.

Thrace in her warring fury wants the same peace.
Persians with fancy quivers pray for that peace.
Grosphus, you know it cannot e'er be purchased.
Riches mean nothing.

Wretched confusion wrecks the mind tormented.
Trouble on wings weaves wickedly through rafter.
Treasure lacks power-not even the lictor
Sweeps away worry.

One's meager table bears a gleaming slat-dish, ancestral gift; so little else he has, yet
Lives well and sleeps well, dreams unsnatched by fear or
Sordid desire.

Why do we strive steadfastly for possessions?
Brief is a lifetime! Why betray our country,
Favoring foreign suns? And who, once exiled,
Flees himself also?

Craftily Care climbs 'board the bronz'd vessel,
Overtakes horse-troops; she is ruthless, rotten,
Swifter than stags and swifter than the East Wind
Driving a rainstorm.

Presently joyful, let your restless soul shun
Fear of the future; slowly spread a smile to
Soothe bitter moments. Not one thing is ever
Totally happy.

Quickly did death snatch glorified Achilles.
Tithonus, fragile, withered, lived forever.
Maybe time's passage will grant me that favor
Which it denies you.

Mooing, a hundred cattle herds surround you,
And your race-ready mare does whinny softly.
African purple double-dyes the woolens
Cloaking your figure.

I have my little farm on which to roam free.
I have a lilting Grecian song to please me.
Unlying Fate instills in me a scorn for
Malignant masses.

 

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