A Palinode
To the ſecond Ode of the booke of Epodes of Q. H. Flaccus.But, Flaccus, now more happy he appeares,
Who, with the burthen of his cares,
Farre off hath left his father’s ground, set free
From the fierce wrangling Lawyer’s fee;
No scorching heat, nor blasts of Winter Jove,
Doth hurt his fruit, or him can move:
Hee shuns all strifes, and never doth resort
The sinfull gates o’th’ greedy Court.But either doth bewayle those dayes and nights,
Lost by him in prophane delights;
Or else retyr’d, strives to collect and find
The dispers’d flock of’s wandring mind;
Having first fairly pois’d the recompence
And gaines of a good conscience.At evening, when the harbinger of night
The torches of the sky doth light,
How he admires th’immortall rayes breake forth,
And their bright Orbes, more large then earth;
How through his trickling teares, he heips his fight,
Unto the open Courts of light,
Which with thy selfe, ô Christ, thy selfe in pray’r
He’ Adores, t’Eternall life an heire!The Starres with golden wheeles, are hurried by,
And let their prostrate exile lye,
Over whose face, the plenteous teares doe stray,
Which chase all drowsie sleepe away;
Assoone as Phœbus head begins t’appeare,
Lately in Indus streames made cleare,
From depth of soule, lesse then himselfe he lies,
And bends the angry pow’rs with cryes:Or when the Sun shines cleare, the aire serene,
And Aprill Festivals begin,
His eyes, so us’d to Heaven, he downe doth throw,
On a large prospect here below:
He viewes the fields, and wondring stands to see
In’s shade the shining Deitie.See how (saies he) each herb with restlesse leaves
To th’ starres doth strive and upward heaves:
Remov’d from heaven they weep, the field appeares
All o’re dissolv’d in pious teares:
The white-flowr’d Woodbine, and the blushing Rose
Branch into th’aire with twining boughs;
The pale-fac’d Lilly on the bending stalke,
To th’starres I know not what doth talke;
At night with fawning sighes they’expresse their fears
And in the morning drop downe teares.Am I alone, wretch that I am, fast bound
And held with heavy weight, to th’ground?
Thus spake he to the neighbouring trees, thus he
To th’Fountaines talk’d, and streames ran by,
And after, seekes the great Creator out
By these faire traces of his foot.But if a lightsome Country house that’s free
From care, such as Luciscu’s bee,
Or Nemicini’s, if Besdan’s fruitfull field
Can Grace to his rude table yeild,
To his plaine board with country dainties set,
In August’s dry and parching heat;Even at his dore, under a private shade
By a thick pleasant Poplar made,
Provision of all sorts, expect their guest,
A shell with salt, pure and the best,
New bread, for which, ‘midst the thin bryars, the Mayd
Picks Strawberries, and’s gladly payd.
Cheese newly press’d, close by, the friendly Cann
With Cup cleane wash’d, doth ready stan’.With me the Lucrine dainties will not downe,
The Scare, nor Mullet that’s well growne;
But the Ring-dove plump, the Turtle dun doth looke,
Or Swan, the sojourner o’th’ brooke,
A messe of Beanes which shuns the curious pallet,
The cheerfull and not simple sallet;
Clusters of grapes last gathered, that misse
And nothing owe to th’weighty presse.Then after noone he takes a kind of pride
To th’Hills to walke, or River side,
And ‘midst the pleasant Okes, a shade doth find,
T’avoyd the blasts o’th’ Southern wind;
To th’darksome shore, by the deep poole he goes,
And through, with nimble Boat he rowes;
Sometimes the sporting fish, his baite thrown in,
Hee plucks up with his trembling line.Meane while th’ spacious woods with ecchoing note
Doe answer to the Bulls wide throat,
The shady rivers bleat; the Nightingale
I’th’ bushes chirps her dolefull tale.
With’s hastning pipe the sheapheard drives away
His flocke, which through the thickets stray:
To which as from the field they passe along,
Each mower sings by course, his song;
O’re yeilding furrowes, carts full press’d with corne
Groane, and are like to breake the barne.Our worke once done, we doe not silent sit,
When knots of our good fellowes meet;
Nor is our talke prolong’d with rude delay;
In harmlesse jests we spend the day;
Jests dip’d in so much salt, which rubbing shall
Onely make fresh our cheeks, not gall.
If that rich churle, this had but seen, when hee
A Country man began to be,
The money which i’th’ Ides hee scraped in
Next month hee’d not put out agen.
From The Odes of Casimire, Translated by G. Hils used under a Project Gutenberg License
Palinodia
Ad ſecundam libri Epodon Odam Q. Horatii Flacci.At ille, Flacce, nunc erit beatior
Qui mole curarum procul
Paterna liquit rura, litigantium
Solutus omni jurgio;
Nec solis æstum frugibus timet suis,
Nec sidus hiberni Jovis,
Rixasque vitat, & scelesta curiæ
Rapacioris limina.Ergo aut profanis hactenus negotiis
Amissa plorat sidera;
Aut in reductâ sede dispersum gregem
Errantis animi colligit,
Postquam beatæ lucra conscientiæ
Quadrante libravit suo.Idem, propinquâ nocte, stellatas vigil
Cùm vesper accendit faces,
Ut gaudet immortale mirari jubar,
Terrâque majores globos,
Et per cadenteis intueri lacrymas
Rimosa lucis atria,
Quæ Christe tecum, virgo quæ tecum colat
Perennis hæres sæculi!Volvuntur aureis interim stellaæ rotis,
Pigrumque linquunt exulem,
Per ora cujus uberes eunt aquæ,
Somnos quod avertat graveis.
At quando lotum Gangis aut Indi fretis
Jam Phœbus attollit caput,
Mentis profundus, & sui totus minor
Irata flectit numina:Vel cum sereno fulserit dies Jove,
Aprilibusque feriis,
Assueta cælo lumina, in terras vocat
Lateque prospectum jacit,
Camposque lustrat, & relucentem suâ
Miratur in scenâ Deum.En omnis inquit, herba non morantibus
In astra luctatur comis:
Semota cælo lacrymantur, & piis
Liquuntur arva fletibus;
Ligustra canis, & rosæ rubentibus
Repunt in auras brachiis;
Astrisque panda nescio quid pallido
Loquuntur ore lilia,
Et serò blandis ingemunt suspiriis,
Et manè rorant lacrymis.Egóne solus, solus in terris piger
Tenace figor pondere?
Sic & propinquas allocutus arbores,
Et multa coram fontibus
Rivisque fatus, quærit Auctorem Deum
Formosa per vestigia.Quod si levandas mentis in curas vigil
Ruris suburbani domus,
Quales Lucisci, vel Nemecini Lares,
Udumvè Besdani nemus
Rudeis adornet rusticâ mensas dape
Siccos sub Augusti dies;Jam tunc sub ipsum limen, aut domesticâ
Lenis sub umbrâ populi,
Expectat omnis hospitem suum penses,
Et concha sinceri salis,
Pressique meta lactis, & purus calix,
Et hospitalis amphora,
Et fraga, raris verna quæ dumis legit,
Jucunda panis præmia.Non me scari tunc, non Lucrinorum gravis
Sagina mulorum juvet:
Sed cereus palumbus, aut turtur niger;
Aut anser amnis accola,
Et eruditam quæ fugit gulam faba,
Lætumque nec simplex olus,
Et quæ suprema colligitur, ac gravi
Patella nil debet foro.Post hæc vel inter læta quercetis juga,
Vel inter amneis juverit
Vitare tristeis post meridiem Notos
Sub æsculo vel ilice;
Nigrumvè littus, aut opaca lubricis
Tranare stagna lintribus,
Jactâque fruge ludibundum ducere
Tremente piscem lineâ.Remugit ingens interim tauris nemus,
Umbrosa balant flumina;
Et aut in antris garriunt acanthides,
Aut in rubis luscinia.
Hinc per rubeta pastor errantes capras
Vocante cogit fistulâ:
Illinc herili messor è campo redux
Alterna plaudit carmina;
Et pressa sectos plaustra per sulcos gemunnt
Ruptura ruris horrea.At nec tacemus ponè considentium
Dulcis manus sodalium;
Nec infacetâ sermo differtur morâ,
Sed innocentibus jocis,
Multoque tinctus, sed verecundo sale,
Innoxium trahit dîem.
Hæc si videret fænerator Alphius,
Olim futurus rusticus,
Quam collocarat Idibus pecuniam,
Nollet Kalendis ponere.
