Well, I was going to get back to translating Latin poetry eventually wasn't I? Translating the already-overtranslated poets of Graeco-Roman antiquity is for me like eating McDonalds: probably not the best use of my time, but still enjoyable.
Rome's Sons March to Civil War
By Horace (Epode 1.7)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
What crime are you boys off to now? What are you
Doing, with blades again in hand?
Doing, with blades again in hand?
Has not enough of Latin blood already
Gushed over sea and land?
Was it so Rome could bring the lording towers
of jumped-up Carthage down in flames,
Was it to take the last free Briton down
the Sacred Way in slavers' chains?
No. It was this town answering Persia's prayers,
Disemboweling herself alone.
Not even wolves or lions can do this
violence against their own.
Does blind rage goad you? Or some nastier power
Like guilt? Give me reply.
Silence. A ghastly pallor dyes their cheeks.
Their shattered brains in stupor lie.
And so it goes: cruel fate and fratricide
Drive Romans on in crime,
Ever since blameless Remus' blood was spilled
and brought a curse on all their line.
The Original:
Quō, quō, scelestī, ruitis? aut cūr dexterīs
aptantur ēnsēs conditī?
parumne campīs atque Neptūnō super
fūsum est Latīnī sanguinis?
nōn ut superbās invidae Carthāginis
Rōmānus arcēs ūreret,
intāctus aut Britannus ut dēscenderet
Sacrā catēnātus Viā,
sed ut secundum vōta Parthōrum suā
urbs haec perīret dexterā.
neque hic lupīs mōs nec fuit leōnibus,
numquam nisī in dispār ferīs.
furorne caecus an rapit vīs ācrior
an culpa? respōnsum date!
tacent, et albus ōra pallor īnficit,
mentēsque perculsae stupent.
sīc est: acerba fāta Rōmānōs agunt
scelusque frāternae necis,
ut immerentis flūxit in terram Remī
sacer nepōtibus cruor.
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