BY @3campus@1 and by @3areæ,@1 my friends, The question is what Horace here intends? For, such expression with the current style Of this whole ode is hard to reconcile: Nay, notwithstanding critical pretence, Or I mistake, or it can have no sense. The ode, you find, proceeding to relate A winter's frost in its severest state, Calls out for fire, and wine, and loves, and dance, And all that Horace rambles to enhance; But how can this @3fair-weather@1 phrase belong To such a wintry, saturnalian song? A learned Frenchman quotes these very lines As really difficult; and thus refines, "We use these words," says Monsieur Sanadon, "For nightly meetings @3hors de la maison;@1 "But 'tis ridiculous in frost and snow, "Of keenest kind, that Horace should do so." Right, Monsieur, right!such incoherent stuff Is here, no doubt, ridiculous enough. The @3Campus Martius@1 and its active scenes, Which commentators say the expression means, Have here no place; nor can they be akin To scenes, not laid without doors, but within. @3"Nunc@1 must refer," proceeds the French remark, "To @3donec@1@3puer@1age of Taliarque; "Not to the frost; for which the bard before "Design'd the two first strophes, and no more; "As commentators rightly should have taught, "Or inattentive readers else are caught." Now inattentive critics too, I say, Are caught sometime in their dogmatic way United here, we must divide, forsooth, The time of winter from the time of youth; When all expressions of Horatian growth Do plainly, in this ode, refer to both. Youthful th' amusements, and for frosty week; From drinking, dancing,down to @3hide and seek:@1 But @3campus@1 comes and @3areæ@1 between, By a mistake too big for any screen; And how nonsensically join'd with "lispers, "By assignation met, of nightly whispers!" Strange how interpreters retail the farce That @3campus@1 here should mean the field of Mars! When in their task they must have just read o'er Contrast to this, the very ode before, Where ev'ry manly exercise disclos'd To love's effeminacy stands oppos'd. In this no thought of any @3field@1 on earth, But warm fire-side, and Roman winter's mirth: No thought of any but domestic @3ring@1 Where all Decembrian customs took their swing; And wherebut come, that matter we'll suppress; There should be something for Cantabs to guess. I'll ask anon, from what has now been said, If emendation pops into your head; Or if you'll teach me how to comprehend That all is right, and nothing here to mend. Come, sharpen up your Latin wits a bit; What further use have all the odes that Horace writ? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE POET'S SHIELD by ARCHILOCHUS TO A REPUBLICAN FRIEND, 1848, CONTINUED by MATTHEW ARNOLD SAINT MAY: A CITY LYRIC by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY EPITAPH ON A CHILD by JEAN ANTOINE DE BAIF THISTLE-DOWN by CLARA DOTY BATES HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 5 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |