isa-normaladvance-1909-00109

Description:	THE NORMAL ADVANCE109LANGUAGE DEPARTMENTLATINTranslations from Horaces OdesLydia die per omnisFair Lydia, by the gods, impart:Why dost thou ply thine amorous art,And manly Sybaris seek the shadeTo languish like a love-sick maid,And shun the course where once he ranReckless of freckle, grime, and tan?.He dares no more the dashing raid,The boldest in the cavalcade Nor cares a fiery steed to sit,And tame him with the jagged bit.His precious limbs he dreads to riskTn Tibers waves and currents brisk The anointing oil, that soothing flood,He shuns as though twere vipers blood.His brawny arms, once black and blueWhen pondrous shaft or quoit he threw,Or took the bat, or hurled the ball,Or gave a punt, or tried a fall,Or wore the gloves, or put the shot(Ah, he was Johnnie-on-the-spot),Now, soft and smooth, do gently twineAround his dainty Columbine.Why is he now like Thetis boy,To dodge his fate at fated Troy,Close hid (for so the legend quotes)Concealed among the petticoats?—Marian Sammis.1,14.0 n navis referent in mare te noviO ship, fresh waves will carry theeFar out upon the raging sea Boisterous winds around thee roar Be brave, and boldly seize the shore.Seest thou not thy side is strippedOf all its oars, thy rigging rippedBy the cruel wind, and the tyrant sea,That ever and ever more violent be.Thy sails are rent, no gods hast thouTo call upon in time of stress,Although the daughter of Pontic pineThou boast thy noble name and race.No sailor shuddering at the stormWill place his trust in gaudy stern,Beware unless tis thy designTo furnish sport for winds malign.O thou, once a bitter grief to me,Now a fond love and anxiety,O shun the treacherous smiling seasThat wash the shining Cyclades.—Helen Ross.I, 20.Vile potabis modicis SabinumCheap Sabine wine from tankards plainTwill be thy lot, my guest, to drain,Wine my own hand sealed up and storedIn Grecian pots, my vintage hoard.That time it was when loud huzzahs,The Pompeian theatres applause,Proclaimed thy praise and in their flightWoke the echo on Janus height.At home thourt used to better wine,The fruit of Cales peerless vine,There also Caecubums rich brandSatisfies thy tastes demand.Tis not the Formianian glassAnd Falernian old my table grace For such my state, my humble boardThe choicer drinks cannot afford.—Helen Connor.
Source:	http://indstate.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/isuarchive/id/34139
Collection:	Indiana State University Archives

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