Sunday, June 10, 2012

 

Horace's Soracte Ode

Thanks to Peter Lobbenberg for drawing my attention to an obscure but charming translation of Horace, Odes 1.9, in a Bryn Mawr literary magazine—Tipyn o' Bob III.3 (January 1906) 7. In the magazine, the translation is attributed to Theresa Helbrun, class of  '08, a misprint for Theresa Helburn, who lived from 1887 to 1959. Line 5 of the translation reads "And thou, Soracte, pour with hand more bold," where "Soracte" is obviously a misprint for "Thaliarchus" or "Thaliarch" or something similar, as Mr. Lobbenberg pointed out. Here is the corrected translation, followed by the Latin.
Soracte stands thick robed in whitest snow,
Beneath their wintry load the trees bend low,
And bitter frost hath stopped the river’s flow.
Pile high the friendly fire and banish cold,
And thou, Thaliarchus, pour with hand more bold
From Sabine jars the vintage four years old.
Leave all else to the gods; when they've allayed
The war by wind on restless waters made,
No breath shall stir the oak or cypress shade.
Seek not to ask what chance to-morrow brings,
Count each day fortune gives among the things
You’ve gained. Scorn not the dancing rings,

Nor sweet amours, while youth leads in life’s race.
Now is the time to seek the trysting place,
In campus or in courtyard and to trace

By traitorous laugh, the maiden coyly hidden
To snatch the pledge from off her arm unbidden
And for your boldness to be lightly chidden.

Vides ut alta stet nive candidum
Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus
    silvae laborantes geluque
    flumina constiterint acuto.

Dissolve frigus ligna super foco
large reponens atque benignius
    deprome quadrimum Sabina,
    o Thaliarche, merum diota.

Permitte divis cetera; qui simul
stravere ventos aequore fervido
    deproeliantis, nec cupressi
    nec veteres agitantur orni.

Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quaerere et
quem fors dierum cumque dabit lucro
    adpone, nec dulcis amores
    sperne puer neque tu choreas,

donec virenti canities abest
morosa. Nunc et Campus et areae
    lenesque sub noctem susurri
    composita repetantur hora;

nunc et latentis proditor intimo
gratus puellae risus ab angulo
    pignusque dereptum lacertis
    aut digito male pertinaci.
Related post: Ach So!.



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