Tuesday, February 02, 2016
Little Gods
Horace, Odes 3.23 (tr. David West):
William Blake Richmond (1842-1921), Phidyle
Boy praying with upturned hands
(Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung)
Lararium (Pompeii, House of the Vettii)
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If when the moon is being born you lift your hands
upturned towards the sky, rustic Phidyle,
if you placate the Lares with incense,
this year's grain, and a greedy pig,
your vine will be fertile and not feel the wind 5
which brings disease from Africa, nor will your crop know
the blight of mildew nor your lovely suckling beasts
a time of danger when the year bears fruit.
The sacrificial victim feeding
on snowy Algidus among oak and ilex 10
or fattening in the Alban grasslands,
will stain the axes of priests
with blood from its neck. There is no call for you
to ply your little gods with great killings
of yearlings. Just crown them 15
with rosemary or brittle sprigs of myrtle.
If your empty hand touches the altar, it is
more persuasive for offering no costly victim,
and appeases angry Penates
with consecrated grain and crackling salt. 20
Caelo supinas si tuleris manus
nascente Luna, rustica Phidyle,
si ture placaris et horna
fruge Lares avidaque porca,
nec pestilentem sentiet Africum 5
fecunda vitis nec sterilem seges
robiginem aut dulces alumni
pomifero grave tempus anno.
nam quae nivali pascitur Algido
devota quercus inter et ilices 10
aut crescit Albanis in herbis
victima, pontificum securis
cervice tinguet: te nihil attinet
temptare multa caede bidentium
parvos coronantem marino 15
rore deos fragilique myrto.
immunis aram si tetigit manus,
non sumptuosa blandior hostia,
mollivit aversos Penatis
farre pio et saliente mica. 20
(Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung)