C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Horace’s Farm

Translation of William Cranston Lawton

LEST you may question me whether my farm, most excellent Quinctius,

Feeds its master with grain, or makes him rich with its olives,

Or with its orchards and pastures, or vines that cover the elm-trees,

I, in colloquial fashion, will tell you its shape and position.

Only my shadowy valley indents the continuous mountains,

Lying so that the sun at his coming looks on the right side,

Then, with retreating chariot, warming the left as he leaves it.

Surely the temperature you would praise; and what if the bushes

Bear in profusion scarlet berries, the oak and the ilex

Plentiful food for the herd provide, and shade for the master?

You would say, with its verdure, Tarentum was hither transported.

There is a fountain, deserving to give its name to a streamlet.

Not more pure nor cooler in Thrace runs winding the Hebrus.

Helpful it is to an aching head or a stomach exhausted.

Such is my ingle: sweet, and, if you believe me, delightful;

Keeping me sound and safe for you even in days of September.