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Mulany, John V. (ed.) / The Wisconsin literary magazine
Vol. V, No. 8 (May 1908)

Tolg, Clarence C.
Horace -- Odes -- 2-14,   p. 345

Page 345

          HORACE -- ODES -- 2-14
                (Prize Translation.)
                Clarence C. TolLg 1910
 Alas my Postumus, my Postumus,
 The fleeting years glide by-no virtue may
 To wrinkles or to age's sure advance,
 Or to unconquered death e'er cause delay.
 No, not if ev'ry passing day, my friend,
 With triple hecatomb thou soughtest the grace
 Of Pluto, him of tearless eye, who keeps
 Huge Geryon with Stygian embrace.
 For all of us must cross that dismal stream,
 All mortal men who taste earth's joy and woe,
 And whether purpled kings or peasant born,
 When life's short thread is cut we all shall go.
 'Tis all in vain we flee war's bloodv hand,
 And Adriatic's hoarse high-dashing wave,
 And Auster stalking through the autumn night,
 With deadly breath-from which no fear can save.
 For all must look upon Cocytus' stream,
 And o'er its dark and sluggish waters go,
 And see the wretched maids of Danaus,
 And Sisyphus condemned to endless woe.
 And thou must leave thy lands, thy winsome wife,
 And of the trees which thou hast planted here
 But one-the cypress dread-shall go with thee,
 Poor transient master-on thy wreathed bier.
 A worthier heir shall drink thv Caecuban,
Which now with hundred keys is locked away,
And dye the pavement with more haughty wine
Than ever pontiffs at their feasts display.

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