|
My poetic spirit is neither common, nor weak
But is double formed like a powerful bird
Which cuts through the liquid air above
Beyond the envious limits of earth,
Leaving the city behind. Not for me,
Despite my humble beginnings, Maecenas,
A sudden, obscure and anonymous end,
To vanish, swallowed by death’s murky waters.
Already the wrinkled skin of the birds
Is forming upon my shins, and up here,
On my fingers and arms, are lovely white feathers,
Beginning to grow like buds in the Spring.
I, like Daedalus
and the famous Icarus,
A large and tuneful bird, will visit
The groaning Bosphorus,
the African Syrtes,
And the Hyperborean
fields of the North.
From me, the people of Colchis,
and Dacians,
Hiding their fear of our military might,
Will learn; the Geloni,
and venerable scribes
Of France and Spain, will study my works.
So cease your cries of mourning, your wails
And complaints: restrain your grief and protests,
Go far from my grave! I have no use
For your empty honours and tearful dirges.
|
|
Non usitata nec tenui ferar
penna biformis per liquidum aethera
uates neque in terris morabor
longius inuidiaque maior
urbis relinquam. Non ego pauperum
sanguis parentum, non ego quem uocas,
dilecte Maecenas, obibo
nec Stygia cohibebor unda.
Iam iam residunt cruribus asperae
pelles et album mutor in alitem
superne nascunturque leues
per digitos umerosque plumae.
Iam Daedaleo ocior Icaro
uisam gementis litora Bosphori
Syrtisque Gaetulas canorus
ales Hyperboreosque campos.
Me Colchus et qui dissimulat metum
Marsae cohortis Dacus et ultimi
noscent Geloni, me peritus
discet Hiber Rhodanique potor.
Absint inani funere neniae
luctusque turpes et querimoniae;
conpesce clamorem ac sepulcri
mitte superuacuos honores.
|