Harsh winter melts away with a welcome shift to spring and Favonius,
and winches draw down dry keels,
now neither does the herd joy in the stalls nor the ploughman in his fire,
nor do meadows whiten with hoary frosts.
Already Cytherean Venus leads her bands neath looming Luna,
and, joined with the Nymphs, the seemly Graces
shake the earth, each foot in turn, while the sombre Cyclopean
forges flaring Vulcan visits.
Now 'tis fitting to trammel our crown—sleek it be—with myrtle green or
the bloom lands unfettered bear;
now too, in shaded groves, 'tis meet to sacrifice to Faunus,
whether his demand be a she-lamb or he prefers a kid.
Pale Death with even foot knocks upon the hovels of the poor
and the towers of kings. O blest Sestius,
life's short summit forbids our forming far hopes.
Soon shall night and the Manes of fable press upon thee,
and Pluto's mansion insubstantial; soon as thither thou roamst,
you'll not with knucklebones cast lots to lord it over the wine,
nor gaze in wonderment at tender Lycidas, for whom aglow
now are all the youth and for whom the maidens shall soon grow warm.
|
Solvitur acris hiems grata vice veris et Favoni,
trahuntque siccas machinae carinas,
ac neque iam stabulis gaudet pecus aut arator igni,
nec prata canis albicant pruinis.
iam Cytherea choros ducit Venus imminente Luna
iunctaeque Nymphis Gratiae decentes
alterno terram quatiunt pede, dum gravis Cyclopum
Volcanus ardens visit officinas.
nunc decet aut viridi nitidum caput impedire myrto
aut flore terrae quem ferunt solutae;
nunc et in umbrosis Fauno decet immolare lucis,
seu poscat agna sive malit haedo.
pallida Mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
regumque turris. o beate Sesti,
vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.
iam te premet nox fabulaeque Manes
et domus exilis Plutonia; quo simul mearis,
nec regna vini sortiere talis
nec tenerum Lycidan mirabere, quo calet iuventus
nunc omnis et mox virgines tepebunt.
|
4.1
4.2
4.3
4.4
4.5
4.6
4.7
4.8
4.9
4.10
4.11
4.12
4.13
4.14
4.15
4.16
4.17
4.18
4.19
4.20
|
