Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Ode 2.1 - To Pollio, On His History of the Civil Wars lyrics

Of all that civil unrest since Metellus, the phases, causes and the crimes of war, of Fortune's games, of great men's grave friendships, of weapons smeared with gore not yet atoned for – you are writing now a work where every turned phrase is a roll of dangerous dice. Let not the ash deceive: you tread on blazing coal. Let your stern Muse not leave the tragic stage for long. Soon, when you've set affairs of state in order, you will heed the theater's calling again. Pollio the great bastion of law to grieved defendants, famous for counseling the Senate council, crowned with d**hless military honor for victory on Illyrian ground. Even now I hear the war-horns' baleful roar in your raucous music, and the bugles' blare. I see the flash of swords strike panicked horses and the horsemen's eyes with fear. I see the great commanders filthy with war's not inglorious dirt, I hear the whole world fall at Rome's feet notwithstanding defiant Cato's dogged soul. The gods allied with Africa who, helpless to help, left unavenged that country's shores, now sacrifice to dead Jugurtha the grandsons of his conquerors. What field has Latin blood not fertilized, its graves attesting the unholiest of wars, and that the ears of Persia ring with the ruin of the West? What churning main, what river does not know those rueful wars' taste? What sea has the slaughter of Rome's own sons not dyed? What beach has our gushed blood not washed like water? But stay amusing, sa**y muse. Enough drumming up d**h-songs from Simonides. let's flee to one of Venus' grottos to strum a lighter tune than these.