Horace
Mighty Apollo, Latona’s son, your rage
Taught Niobe’s dying children how to pay
For Niobe’s motherly boasting, and your rage
Taught Tityos in Hades
The price for his offense against Latona.
Achilles came to know it, too, when almost
Having achieved the victory over Troy,
Achilles, the son of Thetis-
Achilles who shook the towers because of the deeds
Of his spear that loved the battle with such passion,
Achilles stronger than others but nothing like
A match for you, Apollo-
Fell like a pine tree when the ax has struck it
Or like a cypress brought down by the wind.
He lay full length and ate the dust of Troy.
Achilles never would
Have hidden himself within the horse, the Trick,
Sent in while the Trojans danced in celebration.
Achilles would have come (alas! the horror!)
In honest fury raging,
Putting into the fire the little children
Unable yet to speak, not sparing even
The unborn in the womb, if Jupiter hadn’t
Listened to Apollo
And listened to the pleas of charming Venus,
And so been brought to promise to Aeneas
And promise to his descendants luckier walls
Than those of fallen Troy.
O Phoebus Apollo, divine musician, teacher
Who taught the melodious Muse her music, you
Who bathed in Xanthus’ stream, beardless Agyieus,
Protector of the city,
Befriend me now and my Apulian Muse,
Phoebus Apollo who taught me the rules of the art
And gave me the name of poet. You excellent children
Of excellent fathers, wards
Of Diana the huntress, whose arrow never fails
To slay the lynx and roebuck as they flee,
Observe the measure I keep to my finger’s beat
As you sing the ritual hymn
To Latona’s son and Diana the light of the moon
That prospers the crops as they grow and governs the months
Of the year in their regular turning. The bride, someday,
On her wedding day, will say:
“Ten times eleven years brought round the time
To sing the saecular hymn to please the gods
And I was one of the children chosen to sing,
Taught by the poet Horace.”
neosalexandria 