You occupy the nest; I praise
the brooks of the lovely coun-
tryside, its woodland and rocks
overgrown with moss. In short,
I know life and am a king of the
moment, I leave behind those
things you extol to the heavens
with loud applause, and, like the
slave who refuses the sacrificial
cakes from his master the priest,
it is bread I want and now prefer ..
I am dictating these lines to
you behind Vacuna's crumbling
shrine, happy in everything
else apart from not having
your company to share.
I like it, that one
studies pretty stren-
uously with this son
of a slave. I like it,
that there is always
more. I like it, that
so many of the minds
I admire, walk around
in his consciousness.
The rigor they accept
is infectious, a bond.
Through the years, the
hexameters, flows an
uncanny demonstration.
The strain is nothing.
One is being imagined.
Horace
20 BC
John Davie
translation
Satires and Epistles
Epistles I, 10
op. cit.
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