Ovid, Fasti 1
English
translation by A. S.
Kline ã2004 All Rights Reserved
http://www.tonykline.co.uk/Browsepages/Latin/OvidFastiBkOne.htm
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Tempora cum causis 1. A K : IAN : F Ecce tibi faustum, Germanice, nuntiat annum (2. B F) 3. C C (4. D C) Quid vetat et stellas, ut quaeque oriturque caditque, 5. E NON : F Institerint Nonae, missi tibi nubibus atris (6. F F) (7. G C) (8. H C) 9. A AGON : (? NP) Quattuor adde dies ductos ex ordine
Nonis, 10. B EN Postera lux hiemem medio discrimine signat, 11. C CAR : NP (12. D C) Proxima prospiciet Tithono nupta relicto 13. E EID : NP (14. F EN) Idibus in magni castus Iovis aede sacerdos 15. G CAR : NP Respiciet Titan actas ubi tertius Idus, 16. H C (NP inde ab anno 10 p. C.) Candida, te niveo posuit lux proxima templo, 17. A C (18. B C) (19. C C) (20. D
C) (21. E C) (22. F C) 23. G C Haec ubi transierint, Capricorno, Phoebe, relicto 24. H C (25. A C) (26. B C) Sidere ab hoc ignis venienti nocte, Leonis 27. C C (28. D C) (29. E F
[? NP]) At quae venturas praecedit sexta Kalendas, 30. F NP (31. GC) Ipsum nos carmen deduxit Pacis ad aram: |
I’ll speak of
divisions of time throughout the Latin year, Their origins, and the stars that set beneath the earth and
rise. Germanicus
Caesar, accept this work, with a calm face, And direct the
voyage of my fearful ship: Not scorning
this slight honour, but like a god, Receiving with
favour the homage I pay you. Here you’ll
revisit the sacred rites in the ancient annals, And review by
what events each day is marked. And here you’ll
find the festivals of your domus, And see your father’s
and your grandfather’s
name: The prizes they
won, that illustrate the fasti, That you and your
brother Drusus
will also win. Let others sing
Caesar’s wars: I’ll sing his altars, And those days
that he added to the sacred rites. Approve my attempt
to tell of your family’s praises, And banish pale
fear from my heart. Be kind to me,
and you’ll empower my verse: My ingenium will stand or fall by your
glance. My page
trembles, judged by a learned princeps, As if it were being read by Clarian Apollo. We know the
eloquence of your skilful voice, Taking up civil
arms for anxious defendants: And we know,
when your efforts turn to our ars, How copiously
the river of your ingenium flows. If it’s fas and lawful, a poet, guide the
poet’s reins, So beneath your
auspices the whole year may be happy. When the
City’s founder
established times, He determined
there’d be twice five months in his year. You knew more
about swords than stars, Romulus,
surely, Since conquering
neighbours was your chief concern. Yet there’s a
logic that might have possessed him, Caesar, and that might well justify his error. He held that the
time it takes for a mother’s womb To produce a
child, was sufficient for his year. For as many
months also, after her husband’s funeral, A widow
maintains signs of mourning in her house. So Quirinus
in his ceremonial robes had that in view, When he decreed
his year to an unsophisticated people. Mars’
month, March, was the first, and Venus’
April second: She was the
mother of the race, and he its father. The third month
May took its name from the old (maiores), The fourth,
June, from the young (iuvenes), the rest were numbered. But Numa
did not neglect Janus
and the ancestral shades, And therefore
added two months to the ancient ten. Yet lest you’re unaware
of the laws of the various days, Know Dawn
doesn’t always bring the same observances. Those days are
unlawful (nefastus) when the praetor’s three words May not be
spoken, lawful (fastus) when law may be enacted. But don’t assume
each day maintains its character throughout: What’s now a
lawful day may have been unlawful at dawn: Since once the
sacrifice has been offered, all is acceptable, And the honoured
praetor is then allowed free speech. There are those
days, comitiales, when the people vote: And the market
days that always recur in a nine-day cycle. The worship of Juno
claims our While a larger
white ewe-lamb falls to Jupiter
on the Ides: The Nones
though lack a tutelary god. After all these days, (Beware of any
error!), the next day will be ill-omened. The ill-omen
derives from past events: since on those days Let these words
above be applied to the whole calendar, So I’ll not be
forced to break my thread of narrative. See how Janus
appears first in my song To announce a happy year for
you, Germanicus. Two-headed Janus, source of
the silently gliding year, The only god who is able to
see behind him, Be favourable to the
leaders, whose labours win Peace for the fertile earth,
peace for the seas: Be favourable to the senate
and Roman people, And with a nod unbar the
shining temples. A prosperous day dawns:
favour our thoughts and speech! Let auspicious words be said
on this auspicious day. Let our ears be free of
lawsuits then, and banish Mad disputes now: you, malicious
tongues, cease wagging! See how the air shines with
fragrant fire, And Cilician
grains crackle on lit hearths! The flame beats brightly on
the temple’s gold, And spreads a flickering
light on the shrine’s roof. Spotless garments make their
way to Tarpeian
And the crowd wear the
colours of the festival: Now the new rods and axes
lead, new purple glows, And the distinctive ivory
chair feels fresh weight. Heifers that grazed the
grass on Faliscan
plains, Unbroken to the yoke, bow
their necks to the axe. When Jupiter
watches the whole world from his hill, Everything that he sees
belongs to Hail, day of joy, and return
forever, happier still, Worthy to be cherished by a
race that rules the world. But two-formed Janus what
god shall I say you are, Since Tell me the reason, too, why
you alone of all the gods Look both at what’s behind
you and what’s in front. While I was musing,
writing-tablets in hand, The house seemed brighter
than it was before. Then suddenly, sacred and
marvellous, Janus, In two-headed form, showed
his twin faces to my eyes. Terrified, I felt my hair
grow stiff with fear And my heart was frozen with
sudden cold. Holding his stick in his
right hand, his key in the left, He spoke these words to me
from his forward looking face: ‘Learn, without fear, what
you seek, poet who labours Over the days, and remember
my speech. The ancients called me Chaos
(since I am of the first world): Note the long ages past of
which I shall tell. The clear air, and the three
other elements, Fire, water,
earth, were heaped together
as one. When, through the discord of
its components, The mass dissolved, and
scattered to new regions, Flame found the heights: air
took a lower place, While earth and sea sank to
the furthest depth. Then I, who was a shapeless
mass, a ball, Took on the appearance, and
noble limbs of a god. Even now, a small sign of my
once confused state, My front and back appear
just the same. Listen to the other reason
for the shape you query, So you know of it, and know
of my duties too. Whatever you see: sky, sea,
clouds, earth, All things are begun and
ended by my hand. Care of the vast world is in
my hands alone, And mine the governance of
the turning pole. When I choose to send Peace,
from tranquil houses, Freely she walks the roads,
and ceaselessly: The whole world would drown
in bloodstained slaughter, If rigid barriers failed to
hold war in check. I sit at Heaven’s Gate with
the gentle Hours, Jupiter
himself comes and goes at my discretion. So I’m called Janus.
Yet you’d smile at the names The priest gives me,
offering cake and meal sprinkled With salt: on his
sacrificial lips I’m Patulcius, And then again I’m called Clusius. So with a change of name
unsophisticated antiquity Chose to signify my changing
functions. I’ve explained my meaning.
Now learn the reason for my shape: Though already you partially
understand it. Every doorway has two sides,
this way and that, One facing the crowds, and
the other the Lares: And like your doorkeeper
seated at the threshold, Who watches who goes and out
and who goes in, So I the doorkeeper of the
heavenly court, Look towards both east and
west at once. You see Hecate’s
faces turned in three directions, To guard the crossroads
branching several ways: And I, lest I lose time
twisting my neck around, Am free to look both ways
without moving.’ So he spoke, and promised by
a look, That he’d not begrudge it if
I asked for more. I gained courage and thanked
the god fearlessly, And spoke these few words,
gazing at the ground: ‘Tell me why the new-year
begins with cold, When it would be better
started in the spring? Then all’s in flower, then
time renews its youth, And the new buds swell on
the fertile vines: The trees are covered in
newly formed leaves, And grass springs from the
surface of the soil: Birds delight the warm air
with their melodies, And the herds frisk and
gambol in the fields. Then the sun’s sweet, and
brings the swallow, unseen, To build her clay nest under
the highest roof beam. Then the land’s cultivated,
renewed by the plough. That time rightly should
have been called New Year.’ I said all this, questioning:
he answered briefly And swiftly, casting his
words in twin verses: ‘Midwinter’s the first of
the new sun, last of the old: Phoebus
and the year have the same inception.’ Then I asked why the first
day wasn’t free Of litigation. ‘Know the
cause,’ said Janus, ‘I assigned the nascent time
to business affairs, Lest by its omen the whole
year should be idle. For that reason everyone
merely toys with their skills, And does no more than give
witness to their work.’ Next I said: ‘Why, while I
placate other gods, Janus, Do I bring the wine and
incense first to you?’ He replied: ‘So that through
me, who guard the threshold, You can have access to
whichever god you please.’ ‘But, why are joyful words
spoken on the Kalends, And why do we give and
receive good wishes?’ Then leaning on the staff he
gripped in his right hand, He answered: ‘Omens attend
upon beginnings.’ Anxious, your ears are alert
at the first word, And the augur interprets the
first bird that he sees. When the temples and ears of
the gods are open, The tongue speaks no idle
prayer, words have weight.’ Janus ended. Maintaining
only a short silence I followed his final words
with my own: ‘What do the gifts of dates
and dried figs mean’, I said, ‘And the honey
glistening in a snow-white jar?’ ‘For the omen,’ he said, ‘so
that events match the savour, So the course of the year
might be sweet as its start.’ ‘I see why sweet things are given.
Explain the reason For gifts of money, so I
mistake no part of your festival.’ He laughed and said: ‘How
little you know of your age, If you think that honey’s
sweeter to it than gold! I’ve hardly seen anyone,
even in Saturn’s reign, Who in his heart didn’t find
money sweet. Love of it grew with time,
and is now at its height, Since it would be hard put
to increase much further. Wealth is valued more highly
now, than in those times When people were poor, and When a small hut held Romulus,
son of Mars, And reeds from the river
made a scanty bed. Jupiter
complete could barely stand in his low shrine, And the lightning bolt in
his right hand was of clay. They decorated the Capitol
with leaves, not gems, And the senators grazed
their sheep themselves. There was no shame in taking
one’s rest on straw, And pillowing one’s head on
the cut hay. Cincinnatus
left the plough to judge the people, And the slightest use of
silver plate was forbidden. But ever since Fortune,
here, has raised her head, And Wealth has increased, and
the frantic lust for riches, So that those who possess
the most seek for more. They seek to spend, compete
to acquire what’s spent, And so their alternating
vices are nourished. Like one whose belly is
swollen with dropsy The more they drink, they
thirstier they become. Wealth is the value now:
riches bring honours, Friendship too: everywhere
the poor are hidden. And you still ask me if
gold’s useful in augury, And why old money’s a
delight in our hands? Once men gave bronze, now
gold grants better omens, Old money, conquered, gives
way to the new. We too delight in golden
temples, however much We approve the antique: such
splendour suits a god. We praise the past, but
experience our own times: Yet both are ways worthy of
being cultivated.’ He ended his statement. But
again calmly, as before, I spoke these words to the
god who holds the key. ‘Indeed I’ve learned much:
but why is there a ship’s figure On one side of the copper as,
a twin shape on the other?’ ‘You might have recognised
me in the double-image’, He said, ‘if length of days
had not worn the coin away. The reason for the ship is
that the god of the sickle Wandering the globe, by
ship, reached the Tuscan river. I remember how Saturn
was welcomed in this land: Driven by Jupiter
from the celestial regions. From that day the people
kept the title, Saturnian, And the land was Latium,
from the god’s hiding (latente) there. But a pious posterity
stamped a ship on the coin, To commemorate the new god’s
arrival. I myself inhabited the
ground on the left Passed by sandy Tiber’s
gentle waves. Here, where And all this was pasture for
scattered cattle. My citadel was the hill the
people of this age Call by my name, dubbing it
the Janiculum.
I reigned then, when earth
could bear the gods, And divinities mingled in
mortal places. Justice
had not yet fled from human sin, (She was the last deity to
leave the earth), Shame without force, instead
of fear, ruled the people, And it was no effort to
expound the law to the lawful. I’d nothing to do with war:
I guarded peace and doorways, And this,’ he said, showing
his key, ‘was my weapon.’ The god closed his lips.
Then I opened mine, Eliciting with my voice the
voice of the god: ‘Since there are so many
archways, why do you stand Sacredly in one, here where your
temple adjoins two fora? Stroking the beard falling
on his chest with his hand, He at once retold the warlike
acts of Oebalian
Tatius, And how the treacherous
keeper, Tarpeia,
bribed with bracelets, Led the silent Sabines
to the heights of the citadel. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘a steep
slope, the one by which you Now descend, led to the
valleys and the fora. Even now the enemy had
reached the gate, from which Saturn’s envious daughter, Juno,
had removed the bars. Fearing to engage in battle
with so powerful a goddess, I cunningly employed an
example of my own art, And by my power I opened the
mouths of the springs, And suddenly let loose the pent-up
waters: But first I threw sulphur
intro the watery channels, So boiling liquid would
close off that path to Tatius. This action performed and
the Sabines repulsed, The place took on its secure
aspect as before. An altar to me was raised,
linked to a little shrine: Here the grain and cake is
burnt in its flames’ ‘But why hide in peace, and
open your gates in war?’ He swiftly gave me the
answer that I sought: ‘My unbarred gate stands
open wide, so that when The people go to war the
return path’s open too.’ I bar it in peacetime so
peace cannot depart: And by Caesar’s will I shall
be long closed.’ He spoke, and raising his
eyes that looked both ways, He surveyed whatever existed
in the whole world. There was peace, and already
a cause of triumph, Germanicus, The Rhine
had yielded her waters up in submission to you. Janus, make peace and the
agents of peace eternal, And grant the author may
never abandon his work. Now for what I’ve learned
from the calendar itself: The senate dedicated two
temples on this day. The island the river
surrounds with divided waters, Received Aesculapius,
whom Coronis
bore to Apollo. Jupiter
too shares it: one place holds both, and the temples Of the mighty grandfather
and the grandson are joined. Book I: January 3 What prevents me speaking of
the stars, and their rising And setting? That was a part
of what I’ve promised. Happy minds that first took
the trouble to consider These things, and to climb
to the celestial regions! We can be certain that they
raised their heads Above the failings and the
homes of men, alike. Neither wine nor lust
destroyed their noble natures, Nor public business nor
military service: They were not seduced by
trivial ambitions, Illusions of bright glory,
nor hunger for great wealth. They brought the distant
stars within our vision, And subjected the heavens to
their genius. So we reach the sky: there’s
no need for Ossa
to be piled On Olympus,
or Pelion’s
summit touch the highest stars. Following these masters I
too will measure out the skies, And attribute the wheeling
signs to their proper dates. So, when the third night
before the Nones has come, And the earth is drenched,
sprinkled with heavenly dew, You’ll search for the claws
of the eight-footed Crab
in vain: It will plunge headlong
beneath the western waves. Should the Nones be here,
rain from dark clouds Will be the sign, at the
rising of the Lyre. Add four successive days to
the Nones and Janus
Must be propitiated on the Agonal
day. The day may take its name
from the girded priest At whose blow the god’s
sacrifice is felled: Always, before he stains the
naked blade with hot blood, He asks if he should (agatne),
and won’t unless commanded. Some believe that the day is
called Agonal because The sheep do not come to the
altar but are driven (agantur). Others think the ancients
called this festival Agnalia, ‘Of the lambs’, dropping a
letter from its usual place. Or because the victim fears
the knife mirrored in the water, The day might be so called
from the creature’s agony? It may also be that the day
has a Greek name From the games (agones)
that were held in former times. And in ancient speech agonia
meant a sheep, And this last reason in my
judgement is the truth. Though the meaning is uncertain,
the king of the rites, Must appease the gods with
the mate of a woolly ewe. It’s called the victim
because a victorious hand fells it: And hostia,
sacrifice, from hostile conquered foes. Cornmeal, and glittering
grains of pure salt, Were once the means for men
to placate the gods. No foreign ship had yet
brought liquid myrrh Extracted from tree’s bark,
over the ocean waves: Euphrates had not sent
incense, nor India balm, And the threads of yellow
saffron were unknown. The altar was happy to fume
with Sabine
juniper, And the laurel burned with a
loud crackling. He was rich, whoever could
add violets To garlands woven from
meadow flowers. The knife that bares the
entrails of the stricken bull, Had no role to perform in
the sacred rites. Ceres
was first to delight in the blood of the greedy sow, Her crops avenged by the
rightful death of the guilty creature, She learned that in spring
the grain, milky with sweet juice, Had been uprooted by the
snouts of bristling pigs. The swine were punished:
terrified by that example, You should have spared the
vine-shoots, he-goat. Watching a goat nibbling a
vine someone once Vented their indignation in
these words: ‘Gnaw the vine, goat! But
when you stand at the altar There’ll be something from
it to sprinkle on your horns.’ Truth followed:
Bacchus, your enemy is given you To punish, and sprinkled
wine flows over its horns. The sow suffered for her
crime, and the goat for hers: But what were you guilty of
you sheep and oxen? Aristaeus
wept because he saw his bees destroyed, And the hives they had begun
left abandoned. His azure mother, Cyrene,
could barely calm his grief, But added these final words
to what she said: ‘Son, cease your tears! Proteus
will allay your loss, And show you how to recover
what has perished. But lest he still deceives
you by changing shape, Entangle both his hands with
strong fastenings.’ The youth approached the
seer, who was fast asleep, And bound the arms of that
Old Man of the Sea. He by his art altered his
shape and transformed his face, But soon reverted to his
true form, tamed by the ropes. Then raising his dripping
head, and sea-green beard, He said: ‘Do you ask how to
recover your bees? Kill a heifer and bury its carcase
in the earth, Buried it will produce what
you ask of me.’ The shepherd obeyed: the
beast’s putrid corpse Swarmed: one life destroyed
created thousands. Death claims the sheep:
wickedly, it grazed the vervain That a pious old woman
offered to the rural gods. What creature’s safe if
woolly sheep, and oxen Broken to the plough, lay
their lives on the altar? Persia propitiates Hyperion,
crowned with rays, With horses, no sluggish
victims for the swift god. Because a hind was once
sacrificed to Diana
the twin, Instead of Iphigeneia,
a hind dies, though not for a virgin now. I have seen a dog’s entrails
offered to Trivia
by Sapaeans, Whose homes border on your
snows, A young ass too is
sacrificed to the erect rural guardian, Priapus,
the reason’s shameful, but appropriate to the god. That used to recur at the
appointed time, every third winter. There too came the
divinities who worshipped him as Lyaeus, And whoever else was not
averse to jesting, The Pans
and the young Satyrs
prone to lust, And the goddesses of rivers
and lonely haunts. And old Silenus
came on a hollow-backed ass, And crimson Priapus
scaring the timid birds with his rod. Finding a grove suited to
sweet entertainment, They lay down on beds of grass
covered with cloths. Liber
offered wine, each had brought a garland, A stream supplied ample
water for the mixing. There were Naiads
too, some with uncombed flowing hair, Others with their tresses
artfully bound. One attends with tunic
tucked high above the knee, Another shows her breast
through her loosened robe: One bares her shoulder:
another trails her hem in the grass, Their tender feet are not
encumbered with shoes. So some create amorous
passion in the Satyrs, Some in you, Pan, brows
wreathed in pine. You too Silenus, are on
fire, insatiable lecher: Wickedness alone prevents
you growing old. But crimson Priapus,
guardian and glory of gardens, Of them all, was captivated
by Lotis: He desires, and prays, and sighs
for her alone, He signals to her, by
nodding, woos her with signs. But the lovely are
disdainful, pride waits on beauty: She laughed at him, and
scorned him with a look. It was night, and drowsy
from the wine, They lay here and there,
overcome by sleep. Tired from play, Lotis
rested on the grassy earth, Furthest away, under the
maple branches. Her lover stood, and holding
his breath, stole Furtively and silently
towards her on tiptoe. Reaching the snow-white
nymph’s secluded bed, He took care lest the sound
of his breath escaped. Now he balanced on his toes
on the grass nearby: But she was still completely
full of sleep. He rejoiced, and drawing the
cover from her feet, He happily began to have his
way with her. Suddenly Silenus’ ass
braying raucously, Gave an untimely bellow from
its jaws. Terrified the nymph rose,
pushed Priapus away, And, fleeing, gave the alarm
to the whole grove. But the over-expectant god
with his rigid member, Was laughed at by them all,
in the moonlight. The creator of that ruckus
paid with his life, And he’s the sacrifice dear
to the Hellespontine
god. You were chaste once, you
birds, a rural solace, You harmless race that haunt
the woodlands, Who build your nests, warm
your eggs with your wings, And utter sweet measures
from your ready beaks, But that is no help to you,
because of your guilty tongues, And the gods’ belief that
you reveal their thoughts. Nor is that false: since the
closer you are to the gods, The truer the omens you give
by voice and flight. Though long untouched, birds
were killed at last, And the gods delighted in
the informers’ entrails. So the white dove, torn from
her mate, Is often burned in the Idalian
flames: Nor did saving the Capitol
benefit the goose, Who yielded his liver on a
dish to you, Inachus’
daughter: The cock is sacrificed at
night to the Goddess, Night, Because he summons the day
with his waking cries, While the bright
constellation of the Dolphin
rises Over the sea, and shows his
face from his native waters. The following dawn marks the
mid-point of winter. And what remains will equal
what has gone. Book I: January 11: The Carmentalia Quitting his couch, Tithonus’
bride will witness The high priest’s rite of Arcadian
Carmentis. The same light received you
too, Juturna,
Turnus’
sister, There where the Aqua
Virgo circles the Campus. Where shall I find the cause
and nature of these rites? Who will steer my vessel in
mid-ocean? Advise me, Carmentis, you
who take your name from song, And favour my intent, lest I
fail to honour you. Arcadia,
that’s older than the moon (if we believe it), Takes its name from great Arcas,
Callisto’s
son. From there came Evander,
though of noble lineage on both sides Nobler through the blood of
Carmentis, his sacred mother: She, as soon as her spirit
absorbed the heavenly fire, Spoke true prophecies,
filled with the god. She had foretold trouble for
her son and herself, And many other things that
time proved valid. The mother’s words proved only
too true, when the youth Banished with her, fled While he wept, his mother
said: ‘Your fortune must Be borne like a man (I beg
you, check your tears). It was fated so: it is no
fault of yours that exiles you, But a god: an offended god
expelled you from the city. You’re not suffering
rightful punishment, but divine anger: It is something in great
misfortune to be free of guilt. As each man’s conscience is,
so it harbours Hope or fear in his heart,
according to his actions. Don’t mourn these ills as if
you were first to endure them: Such storms have overwhelmed
the mightiest people. Cadmus
endured the same, driven from the shores of Tyre, Remaining an exile on
Boeotian soil. Tydeus
endured the same, and Pagasean Jason, And others whom it would
take too long to speak of. To the brave every land is
their country, as the sea To fish, or every empty
space on earth to the birds. Wild storms never rage the
whole year long, And spring will yet come to
you (believe me).’ Encouraged by his mother’s
words, Evander Sailed the waves and reached
Hesperian lands. Then, advised by wise
Carmentis, he steered His boat into a river, and
stemmed the Tuscan stream. She examined the river bank,
bordered by Tarentum’s shallows, And the huts scattered over
the desolate spaces: And stood, as she was, with
streaming hair, at the stern, And fiercely stopped the
steersman’s hand: Then stretching out her arm
to the right bank, She stamped three times,
wildly, on the pine deck: Evander barely held her back
with his hand, Barely stopped her leaping
swiftly to land. ‘Hail, you gods of the land
we sought’ she cried, ‘And you the place that will
give heaven new gods, And you nymphs of the grove,
and crowds of Naiads! May the sight of you be a
good omen for me and my son, And happy be the foot that
touches that shore! Am I wrong, or will those
hills raise mighty walls, And from this earth all the
earth receive its laws? The whole world is one day
promised to these hills: Who could believe the place held
such fate in store? Soon Trojan
ships will touch these shores, And a woman, Lavinia,
shall cause fresh war. Pallas,
dear grandson, why put on that fatal armour? Put it on! No mean champion
will avenge you. Conquered Troy
you will conquer, and rise from your fall, Your very ruin overwhelms
your enemy’s houses. Conquering flames consume Neptune’s
Will that prevent its ashes
rising higher than the world? Soon pious Aeneas
will bring the sacred Penates, and his Sacred father here: Vesta,
receive the gods of In time the same hand will
guard the world and you, And a
god in person will hold the sacred rites. The safety of the country
will lie with Augustus’
house: It’s decreed this family
will hold the reins of empire. So Caesar’s son, Augustus,
and grandson, Tiberius, Divine minds, will, despite
his refusal, rule the country: And as I myself will be
hallowed at eternal altars, So Livia
shall be a new divinity, Julia
Augusta.’ When she had brought her
tale to our own times, Her prescient tongue halted
in mid-speech. Landing from the ships,
Evander the exile stood On Latian turf, happy for
that to be his place of exile! After a short time new
houses were built, And no Italian hill
surpassed the Palatine. See, Hercules
drives the Erythean cattle here: Travelling a long track
through the world: And while he is entertained in
the Tegean house, The untended cattle wander
the wide acres. It was morning: woken from
his sleep the Tyrinthian Saw that two bulls were
missing from the herd. Seeking, he found no trace
of the silently stolen beasts: Fierce Cacus
had dragged them backwards into his cave, Cacus the infamous terror of
the Aventine
woods, No slight evil to neighbours
and travellers. His aspect was grim, his
body huge, with strength To match: the monster’s
father was Mulciber. He housed in a vast cavern
with deep recesses, So hidden the wild creatures
could barely find it. Over the entrance hung human
arms and skulls, And the ground bristled with
whitened bones. Jupiter’s
son was leaving, that part of his herd lost, When the stolen cattle lowed
loudly. ‘I am recalled” he said, and
following the sound, As avenger, came through the
woods to the evil cave, Cacus had blocked the
entrance with a piece of the hill: Ten yoked oxen could
scarcely have moved it. Hercules leant with his
shoulders, on which the world had rested, And loosened that vast bulk
with the pressure. A crash that troubled the
air followed its toppling, And the ground subsided
under the falling weight. Cacus at first fought hand
to hand, and waged war, Ferociously, with logs and
boulders. When that failed, beaten, he
tried his father’s tricks And vomited roaring flames
from his mouth: You’d think Typhoeus
breathed at every blast, And sudden flares were
hurled from Etna’s
fires. Hercules
anticipated him, raised his triple-knotted club, And swung it three, then
four times, in his adversary’s face. Cacus fell, vomiting smoke
mingled with blood, And beat at the ground, in
dying, with his chest. The victor offered one of
the bulls to you, Jupiter, And invited Evander and his
countrymen to the feast, And himself set up an altar,
called Maxima, the Mightiest, Where that part of the city
takes its name from an ox. Evander’s mother did not
hide that the time was near When earth would be done
with its hero, Hercules. But the felicitous
prophetess, as she lived beloved of the gods, Now a goddess herself, has this day of Janus’ month as hers. On the Ides, in Jove’s
temple, the chaste priest (the Flamen
Dialis) Offers to the flames the
entrails of a gelded ram: All the provinces were
returned to our people, And your grandfather was
given the name Augustus. Read the legends on wax
images in noble halls, Such titles were never
bestowed on men before. Here Another witnesses to
Isaurian or Cretan power tamed: This makes glory from
Numidians, that Messana, While the next drew his fame
from Numantia. Drusus
owed his death and glory to Alas, how brief that great
virtue was! If Caesar was to take his
titles from the defeated He would need as many names
as tribes on earth. Some have earned fame from
lone enemies, Named from a torque
won or a raven-companion. Pompey
the Great, your name reflects your deeds, But he who defeated you was
greater still. No surname ranks higher than
that of the Fabii, Their family was called Greatest
for their services. Yet these are human honours
bestowed on all. Augustus alone has a name
that ranks with great Jove. Sacred things are called august
by the senators, And so are temples duly
dedicated by priestly hands. From the same root comes the
word augury, And Jupiter augments
things by his power. May he augment our leader’s
empire and his years, And may the oak-leaf crown
protect his doors. By the god’s auspices, may
the father’s omens Attend the heir of so great
a name, when he rules the world. When the third sun looks
back on the past Ides, The rites of Carmenta,
the Parrhasian
goddess, are repeated. Formerly the Ausonian
mothers drove in carriages (carpenta) (These I think were named after Evander’s mother). The honour was later taken from them, so every woman Vowed not to renew their ungrateful husband’s line, And to avoid giving birth, unwisely, she expelled Her womb’s growing burden, using unpredictable
force. They say the senate reproved the wives for their
coldness, But restored the right which had been taken from
them: And they ordered two like festivals for the Tegean
mother, To promote the birth of both boys and girls. It is not lawful to take leather into her shrine, Lest the pure hearths are defiled by sacrifice. If you love ancient ritual, listen to the prayers, And you’ll hear names you’ve never heard before. They placate Porrima
and Postverta,
whether sisters, Maenalian goddess, or companions in your exile: The one thought to sing of what happened long ago (porro), The other of what is to happen hereafter (venturum
postmodo). Radiant one, the next day
places you in your snow-white shrine, Near where lofty Moneta
lifts her noble stairway: Concord,
you will gaze on the Latin crowd’s prosperity, Now sacred hands have
established you. Camillus,
conqueror of the Etruscan people, Vowed your ancient temple
and kept his vow. His reason was that the
commoners had armed themselves, Seceding from the nobles, and This latest reason was a
better one: revered Leader,
Germany Offered up her dishevelled
tresses, at your command: From that, you dedicated the
spoils of a defeated race, And built a shrine to the
goddess that you yourself worship. A goddess your
mother honoured by her life, and by an altar, She alone worthy to share
great Jupiter’s
couch. When this day is over, Phoebus,
you will leave Capricorn, And take your course through
the sign of the Water-Bearer. Seven days from now when the
sun sinks in the waves, The Lyre
will no longer shine in the heavens. After Lyra vanishes into
obscurity, the fire that gleams At the heart of the Lion
will be sunk in the sea at dawn. I have searched the calendar
three or four times, But nowhere found the Day of
Sowing: Seeing this the Muse said:
‘That day is set by the priests, Why are you looking for
moveable days in the calendar?’ Though the day of the
feast’s uncertain, its time is known, When the seed has been sown
and the land’s productive.’ You bullocks, crowned with
garlands, stand at the full trough, Your labour will return with
the warmth of spring. Let the farmer hang the
toil-worn plough on its post: The wintry earth dreaded its
every wound. Steward, let the soil rest
when the sowing is done, And let the men who worked
the soil rest too. Let the village keep
festival: farmers, purify the village, And offer the yearly cakes
on the village hearths. Propitiate Earth and Ceres,
the mothers of the crops, With their own corn, and a
pregnant sow’s entrails. Ceres and Earth fulfil a
common function: One supplies the chance to
bear, the other the soil. ‘Partners in toil, you who improved
on ancient days Replacing acorns with more
useful foods, Satisfy the eager farmers
with full harvest, So they reap a worthy prize
from their efforts. Grant the tender seeds
perpetual fruitfulness, Don’t let new shoots be
scorched by cold snows. When we sow, let the sky be
clear with calm breezes, Sprinkle the buried seed
with heavenly rain. Forbid the birds, that prey
on cultivated land, To ruin the cornfields in
destructive crowds. You too, spare the sown
seed, you ants, So you’ll win a greater prize
from the harvest. Meanwhile let no scaly
mildew blight its growth, And let no bad weather
blanch its colour, May it neither shrivel, nor
be over-ripe And ruined by its own rich exuberance. May the fields be free of
darnel that harms the eyesight, And no barren wild oats grow
on cultivated soil. May the land yield rich
interest, crops of wheat And barley,
and spelt roasted twice in the flames.’ I offer this for you,
farmers, do so yourselves, And may the two goddesses
grant our prayers. War long gripped mankind:
the sword was more useful Than the plough: the ox
yielded to the warhorse: Hoes were idle, mattocks
made into javelins, And heavy rakes were forged
into helmets. Thanks to the gods, and your
house, under your feet War has long been bound in chains. Let the ox be yoked, seed
lie beneath ploughed soil: Peace fosters Ceres,
and Ceres is child of Peace. On this sixth day before the approaching Kalends, A temple was dedicated to the Dioscuri.
Brothers of the divine race
founded it For those divine brothers,
by Juturna’s
lakes. My song has led to the altar
of Peace
itself. This day is the second from
the month’s end. Come, Peace, your graceful
tresses wreathed With laurel of Actium:
stay gently in this world. While we lack enemies, or
cause for triumphs: You’ll be a greater glory to
our leaders than war. May the soldier be armed to
defend against arms, And the trumpet
blare only for processions. May the world far and near
fear the sons of Aeneas, And let any land that feared
Priests, add incense to the
peaceful flames, Let a shining sacrifice
fall, brow wet with wine, And ask the gods who favour
pious prayer That the house that brings
peace, may so endure. Now the first part of my
labour is complete, And as its month ends, so
does this book. |