Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO Q. H. F. by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON

Poet Analysis

First Line: HORATIUS FLACCUS, B.C. 8
Last Line: UNMATCHED, UNMET, WE HAVE NOT KNOWN.
Subject(s): HORACE (65-8 B.C.); POETRY & POETS;
SUGGESTED BY A CHAPTER IN SIR THEODORE
MARTIN'S 'HORACE'

('ANCIENT CLASSICS FOR ENGLISH READERS')

'HORATIUS FLACCUS, B.C. 8,'
There's not a doubt about the date, --
You're dead and buried:
As you observed, the seasons roll;
And 'cross the Styx full many a soul
Has Charon ferried,
Since, mourned of men and Muses nine,
They laid you on the Esquiline.

And that was centuries ago!
You'd think we'd learned enough, I know
To help refine us,
Since last you trod the Sacred Street,
And tacked from mortal fear to meet
The bore Crispinus;
Or, by your cold Digentia, set
The web of winter birding-net.

Ours is so far-advanced an age!
Sensation tales, a classic stage,
Commodious villas!
We boast high art, an Albert Hall,
Australian meats, and men who call
Their sires gorillas!
We have a thousand things, you see,
Not dreamt in your philosophy.

And yet, how strange! Our 'world,' to-day,
Tried in the scale, would scarce outweigh
Your Roman cronies;
Walk in the Park -- you'll seldom fail
To find a Sybaris on the rail
By Lydia's ponies,
Or hap on Barrus, wigged and stayed,
Ogling some unsuspecting maid.

The great Gargilius, then, behold!
His 'long-bow' hunting tales of old
Are now but duller;
Fair Neobule too! Is not
One Hebrus here -- from Aldershot?
Aha, you colour!
Be wise. There old Canidia sits;
No doubt she's tearing you to bits.

And look, dyspeptic, brave, and kind,
Comes dear Maecenas, half behind
Terentia's skirting;
Here's Pyrrha, 'golden haired' at will;
Prig Damasippus, preaching still;
Asterie flirting, --
Radiant, of course. We'll make her black, --
Ask her when Gyges' ship comes back.

So with the rest. Who will may trace
Behind the new each elder face
Defined as clearly;
Science proceeds, and man stands still;
Our 'world' to-day's as good or ill, --
As cultured (nearly), --
As yours was, Horace! You alone,
Unmatched, unmet, we have not known.



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