Bkiv:Ix Lollius Poem by Horace

Bkiv:Ix Lollius

Rating: 2.7


Don’t think that the words I speak to accompany
the lyre ( I, born near thunderous Aufidus,
plying those skills not generally known
before) are destined to utterly die:

Though Maeonian Homer holds the first place,
Pindar’s Muse is not hidden, Simonides’
of Ceos, nor threatening Alcaeus’,
nor that of the stately Stesichorus:

time hasn’t erased what Anacreon once
played: and the love of the Lesbian girl still
breathes, all the passion that Sappho
committed to that Aeolian lyre.

Laconian Helen wasn’t the only one
inflamed by marvelling at an adulterer’s
elegant hair, or gold-spangled clothes,
his regal manners, and his companions,

Teucer wasn’t the first to fire an arrow
from a Cydonian bow, more than once great
Troy was troubled: Idomeneus
the mighty, and Sthenelus weren’t alone

in fighting wars sung by the Muses: Hector
the fierce and brave Deiophobus weren’t the first
to suffer the weight of heavy blows
for the sake of their chaste wives, and children.

Many brave men lived before Agamemnon:
but all are imprisoned in unending night,
all of them are unwept and unknown,
because of the lack of a sacred bard.


Courage that’s concealed in the tomb, is little
different to cowardice. Lollius I won’t
be silent about you in my verse,
(you’re celebrated) nor allow envious

oblivion to prey with impunity
on your many exploits. You’ve a mind that’s versed
in affairs, that’s just, in dubious
times, or in the most favourable ones,

punishing avaricious deceit, restrained
with money that draws everything to itself,
not a Consul of a single year,
but a judge often, one honest and true,

preferring honour to expediency,
with a noble look rejecting the criminal’s
bribe, a conqueror carrying arms
through the hostile ranks of the enemy.

It’s not right to call a man blessed because he
owns much: he more truly deserves a name for
being happy, who knows how to make
a wiser use of the gifts from the gods,

and how to endure the harshest poverty,
who’s a greater fear of dishonour than death:
he’s not afraid to die for the friends
that he loves, or to die for his country.

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