Living
Odes 3.12 (Gladstone): Miserarum Est
Translated by W. E. Gladstone (1894) · From Odes, Book III
Woful girls! who neither may
Wash in wine their cares away,
Nor in loving gambols play,
Or they hear some uncle scold
Till their blood runs icy cold.
Citherea's winged son
Thieving thy wool-basket won,
And thy care for toil was done
With the web that Hebrus stole,
Liparaean, beauty's soul.
Not Bellerophon would try
On the horse with him to vie:
Runner, boxer, none so high:
See him too in Tiber's wave
His anointed shoulders lave!
Neobule! his the art,
When the herds aroused start,
Stags to pierce with flying dart:
Or to strike the boar as quick,
Sculking where the woods are thick.
Cite this poem
MLA
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus). “Odes 3.12 (Gladstone): Miserarum Est.” Translated by W. E. Gladstone. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/horace/414/.
Chicago
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus). “Odes 3.12 (Gladstone): Miserarum Est.” Translated by W. E. Gladstone. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/horace/414/.
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