Bkiii:I Odi Profanum

I hate the vulgar crowd, and keep them away: grant me your silence. A priest of the Muses, I sing a song never heard before, I sing a song for young women and boys. The power of dread kings over their peoples, is the power Jove has over those kings themselves, famed for his defeat of the Giants, controlling all with a nod of his head. It’s true that one man will lay out his vineyards over wider acres than will his neighbour, that one candidate who descends to the Campus, will maintain that he’s nobler, another’s more famous, or has a larger crowd of followers: but Necessity sorts the fates of high and low with equal justice: the roomy urn holds every name. Sicilian feasts won’t supply sweet flavours to the man above whose impious head hangs a naked sword, nor will the singing of birds or the playing of zithers bring back soft sleep. But gentle slumber doesn’t despise the humble house of a rural labourer, or a riverbank deep in the shade, or the vale of Tempe, stirred by the breeze. He who only longs for what is sufficient, is never disturbed by tumultuous seas, nor the savage power of Arcturus setting, nor the strength of the Kids rising, nor his vineyards being lashed by the hailstones, nor his treacherous farmland, rain being blamed for the state of the trees, the dog-star parching the fields, or the cruel winter. The fish can feel that the channel’s narrowing, when piles are driven deep: the builder, his team of workers, the lord who scorns the land pour the rubble down into the waters. But Fear and Menace climb up to the same place where the lord climbs up, and dark Care will not leave the bronze-clad trireme, and even sits behind the horseman when he’s out riding. So if neither Phrygian stone, nor purple, brighter than the constellations, can solace the grieving man, nor Falernian wine, nor the perfumes purchased from Persia, why should I build a regal hall in modern style, with lofty columns to stir up envy? Why should I change my Sabine valley, for the heavier burden of excess wealth?