Two Poems on Horace
By Austin Dobson and Alfred Austin
The English poets Austin Dobson (1840-1921) and Alfred Austin (1835-1913)
are not exactly household names today, and their poetry is unlikely
to stage a revival in the 21st century (more's the pity).
Neither one merits even the slightest mention in the 2nd edition
of William Rose Benét's The Reader's Encyclopedia (New York:
Thomas Y. Crowell, 1965).
But in the halcyon days of Queen Victoria, these two
men of letters published a pair of delightful poems purporting to be
The burden of Austin Dobson's poem is that Horace's favorite themes are
hackneyed; they are not trite, but universal, replies Alfred Austin.
So far as I can tell, these poems have
never been published together, and I have decided to make them
available to lovers of Horace on the World Wide Web.
The texts are copied from the following books:
- Austin Dobson, The Complete Poetical Works
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1923), pp. 182-183.
The poem was originally published in the Spectator
magazine, 13 November 1875.
- Alfred Austin, Lyrical Poems (London: Macmillan, 1891),
pp. 55-57.
Both of these authors were steeped in the poetry of Horace
from childhood on, and their verses contain numerous
Horatian echoes. I don't want to spoil the fun of discovery,
however, and therefore I decline to provide notes.
Austin Dobson
'HIS FRIENDS' TO QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS
'Haec decies repetita [non] placebit.' -- ARS POETICA.
Flaccus, you write us charming songs:
No bard we know possesses
In such perfection what belongs
To brief and bright addresses;
No man can say that Life is short
With mien so little fretful;
No man to Virtue's paths exhort
In phrases less regretful;
Or touch, with more serene distress,
On Fortune's ways erratic;
And then delightfully digress
From Alp to Adriatic:
All this is well, no doubt, and tends
Barbarian minds to soften;
But, Horace -- we, we are your friends --
Why tell us this so often?
Why feign to spread a cheerful feast,
And then thrust in our faces
These barren scraps (to say the least)
Of Stoic commonplaces?
Recount, and welcome, your pursuits:
Sing Lyde's lyre and hair;
Sing drums and Berecynthian flutes;
Sing parsley-wreathes; but spare,--
O, spare to sing, what none deny,
That things we love decay;
That Time and Gold have wings to fly;--
That all must Fate obey!
Or bid us dine -- on this day week--
And pour us, if you can,
As soft and sleek as girlish cheek,
Your innocent Caecuban;--
Of that we fear not overplus;
But your didactic 'tap'--
Forgive us!-- grows monotonous;
Nunc vale! Verbum sap.
Alfred Austin
Good friends, you urge my Odes grow trite,
And that of worthless station,
Of fleeting youth and joy, I write
With endless iteration.
But say, in mortals, base or great,
Have you a change detected?
Are they, when victors, less elate,
When vanquished, less dejected?
Do they no more in mundane mire
For golden garbage scramble?
Or, but companioned with the lyre,
Up twisting Anio ramble?
Hath fortune ceased to prove a jade?
Hath favour waxed less fickle?
Hath shamed Bellona dropped her blade,
Or Death put up his sickle?
Doth age no longer rime the hair?
Finds Virtue always supper?
Or, when cit. rides a Knight, doth Care,
No more bestride the crupper?
Do not the rosy hours wax pale,
New loves old loves disherit?
And sleight of golden showers prevail
'Gainst Danae's brazen turret?
Sooth, verbum sap. But then, Jove knows!
Men are not wise, but foolish,
Whether they scan Soracte's snows,
Or those near Ballachulish.
Still, still they hug the bestial sty,
And have not changed one wee bit;
Unpleasing truth, which "Repeti-
Ta decies (non) placebit."
Ask such to share my Sabine meal!
To twine the parsley classic!
For such to break the Manlian seal,
And liberate my Massic!
A pretty tale! Why, ken you not,
Good friends, as lately showed I,
In verse already you've forgot,--
Profanum vulgus odi?
Fair maid or Minister I dine,
Toast Rome or Alma Venus:
When Lydia will not kiss my wine,
Why, then, I ask Maecenas.
For such and self the chords I strike
Of wisdom, love, and scorning;
And if the world my themes dislike,
Well, -- gentlemen, Good morning!