Translation:Odes (Horace)/Book II/6

by Horace

Septimius, you would go with me to Gades
And the Cantabrian land, not taught to carry our yoke
And to the savage Syrtes,
Where the Moorish wave always seethes

Let the Tiber, founded by the settler from Argos
Be the resting place of my old age,
Let it be a limit to toil for me,
Tired of the sea and journeys and military service

If the unfavourable Fates keep me from there,
I shall seek the sweet river of Galaesus
With its sheep clothed in skins
And the countryside, ruled over by Spartan Phalanthus.

That corner of the earth smiles for me beyond all others,
Where the honey does not yield to Mt. Hymettus
And the olive berry rivals with green Venefrum,

Where Jupiter gives a long Spring and mild Winters
And the Aulon valley, friendly to fertile Bacchus,
Envies very little the grapes of Falernum.

This place and the fertile hills claim you along with me,
There you will sprinkle with the tear you have held back
The warm ashes of your friend the poet.