Programme in Classical Studies
Humanities 2105
To be
deposited in the mail slot designated for essays in the Humanities Office
in
This examination
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Maximum
4 typed pages, 12pt. 1 inch margins
Please remember to
put your name, the day of your Tutorial
and the
name of Professor Swarney on the front of your examination paper.
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Explain three of the following passages, at least one from Horace and one from Vergil, with enough
detail to convince the learned reader that you are familiar with what you
have chosen to explain. The successful answer will locate the chosen passage
within the context of the work or works in which it appears. The successful answer will locate the chosen passage
within the context of the topics introduced thus far in this course. And the successful answer will be executed in
complete sentences. |
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A |
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495 500 505 |
Surely the time will come when a farmer in those
frontiers Forcing through earth his curved plough Shall find old spears eaten away with flaky rust, Or hit upon helmets as he wields the weight of his
mattock And marvels at the heroic bones he has disinterred. O gods of our fathers, native gods, Romulus, Vesta Who mothers our Tuscan At least allow this young man to rescue this inverted
generation! Long enough now have we Paid in our blood for the promise Laomedon
broke at Long now has the kingdom of heaven grudged you to us,
Caesar, Complaing because you
care only for mortal triumphs. Fas and nefas are confused here, there’s so much war in the
world, Evil has so many faces, the plough so little Honour, labourers are taken, fields untended, And curving sickle is beaten into rigid sword. Vergil, Georgics 1, 493-508 (with variations) |
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B |
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5 10 15 20 |
Quo,
quo, scelesti ruitiis? Why this mad rush to join a wicked war? Your
swords were sheathed. Why do you draw them now? Perhaps too little Latin blood has poured
upon the plains and into not so that of or that the Briton, still beyond our reach,
should walk the but so that and answer all the prayers of This never was the way of lions or of wolves
to shed the blood of their own kind. Is it blind madness, or some deadlier force?
Some ancient guilt? Give
answer now. Silence, and pallor on the face, minds numbed with shock. The case is made. It is harsh Fate that
drives the Romans, and the crime
of fratricide since Remus'
blameless lifeblood poured upon the ground- a curse to generations yet unborn. Horace, Epodes 7 |
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C |
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5 10 15 |
Exegi
monumentum aere perennius I
have exacted a monument more lasting than bronze higher
even than the regal site of pyramids, which
neither eroding rain, nor north wind raging can
destroy nor innumerable sequences of years and flight of
seasons.
Not
all of me will die and a large part will
avoid Libitina: I shall continue to
grow afresh in praise to come, so long as pontifex climbs Capitolium
with silent virgin: I
shall be said, where wild Aufidus
roars
and
where Daunus, poor in water, over rustic folk
once ruled, from humble source a powerful princeps to have led Aeolian
songs into Italian
metres. Put on haughty pride earned
with merit, and
willingly,
Melpomene, gird my locks with Delphic laurel. Horace Odes 3.30 |
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D |
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5 10 20 30 |
I sing of arms and the man who first from Fate's fugitive, came to Coast, a man much tossed on land and sea By the gods' force, through Juno's mindful
fury; He suffered greatly in war until he could
found A city and bring his gods to The Latins would
spring, the Alban fathers, and With its lofty
walls. Muse,
tell me the reasons why A wounded power divine, a
queen of the gods In anger compelled him to
go through so many dangers, A man outstanding for
loyalty, and to struggle So long
? Can celestial spirits harbor such wrath ? There
was an ancient city-some Tyrian settlers Held it-named Mouth, and from In war, which Juno is said
to have favored above All cities, above even A center for all the nations, if fate should
allow. She had set her heart for
a long time now on this. But she had heard that a
race of Trojan blood Would one day overturn
those Tyrian towers; From this race would rise
a folk to rule proudly in war And widely, and to destroy
Thus Juno, afraid,
remembering the ancient war, The first that she fought at Troy for her
precious Greeks -Not
yet had the cause of her anger, her keen chagrin Fallen away from her heart; there remained
in her soul, Deep-set, the judgment of Her beauty scorned, that hateful race, the
honors Of Ganymede
kidnapped. Enraged, she had driven the Trojans Left alive by
the Greeks, and the cruel Achilles, across The entire
ocean, had driven them far from the coast Of Pursued by the
Fates across every sea. So great Was the task to
found the race and the city of Vergil, Aeneid 1, 1-33 |
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E |
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5 10 15 20 25 30 35 |
Maecenas atavis edite regibus Maecenas, edited from ancestor kings, my praesidium,
my pride, and my delight, some like to collect Olympic dust on their chariots, and if their scorching
wheels graze the turning-post and they win the palm
of glory, they become lords of the earth and rise to
the gods; one man is pleased if the fickle mob of
Roman citizens competes to lift him up to triple honours; another, if he stores away in his own
granary the sweepings from all the threshing-floors
of the man who enjoys cleaving his ancestral
fields with the mattock, you could never move, not
with the legacy of Attalus, to
become a frightened sailor cutting the Myrtoan
sea with Cyprian timbers; the merchant, terrified at the brawl of
African gale with Icarian
waves, is all for leisure and the countryside round his own home town, but he is soon
rebuilding his shattered ships-he cannot learn to
endure poverty; there is a man who sees no objection to
drinking old Massic wine or
taking time out of the day, 20 stretched out sometimes under the green
arbutus, sometimes by a gently welling spring of
sacred water; many enjoy the camp, the sound of the
trumpet merged in the bugle, the wars that mothers abhor; the huntsman stays out under a cold sky,
and forgets his tender wife the moment his faithful dogs catch sight of a hind or a Marsian boar
bursts his delicate nets. As for me, it is ivy, the reward of learned
brows, that puts me among the gods above. As for me, the cold grove and the light-footed choruses
of Nymphs and Satyrs set me apart from the people if Euterpe lets me
play her pipes, and Polyhymnia does not withhold the lyre of But if you enrol
me among the lyric bards my soaring head will touch the stars. Horace Odes 1.1 |
F
Quis multa gracilis te
puer in rosa
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What tender young man dripping in perfume amid many a rose presses you, Pyrrha, in a gracious grotto? For whom do
you set your flaming hair so simply elegant? Alas, will he daily lament fides and gods reversed and
marvel unprepared for seas
brisling with dark winds, who now gullibly enjoys you still golden, who hopes you ever
available and ever lovable, unaware
of golden lies. Miserable are
those for whom you are glimmering untried! As for
me votive tablet on temple walls marks
how I
have hung up wet garments to the mighty god of the sea! |
5 10 15 |
Quis multa
gracilis te puer in rosa simplex
munditiis? Heu quotiens fidem qui nunc te
fruitur credulus aurea, intemptata
nites. Me tabula sacer Horace Odes 1. 5 |
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5 10 15 50 |
G Born of time, a great new cycle of centuries Begins. Justice returns to earth, the Age of Saturn Returns, and its first born comes down from heaven
above. Look kindly, chaste Lucina,
upon this infant’s birth, For with him shall hearts of iron cease, hand hearts of
gold Inherit the whole earth – yes, Apollo reigns now. And it’s while you are consul-, Pollio-
that this glorious Age shall dawn, the march of its great months begin. You at our head, mankind shall be freed from its
age-long fear All stains of our past wickedness being cleansed away. This child shall enter into the life of gods, behold
them Walking with ancient heroes, and himself be seen of
them, And rule a world made peaceful by his father’s virtuous
acts. ………………………………………………………… Come soon, dear child of the gods, Jupiter’s great
victory! Come soon – the time is near – to begin your life
illustrious! Look how the round and ponderous globe bows to salute
you, The land, the stretching leagues of sea, the unplumbed
sky! Look how the whole creation exults in the age to come! If but the closing days of a long life were prolonged For me, and I with breath enough to tell your story, Oh then I should not be worsted at singing by
Thracian Orpheus. Vergil,
Eclogue 4. 5-17; 48-55 (with
variation) |
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H |
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920 930 940 950 |
Aeneas brandished his
shaft at the hesitant Turnus, The fate-bringing weapon,
selecting the fortunate spot With his eyes where to
strike, and leaned forward with all of his body Never did stone hurled
from siege-engine made to break walls Roar so loudly, nor
thunder from lightning that leaps in the sky. The spear like a whirlwind
of darkness flew onward and bore Dread disaster; it passed
through the edge of the outermost circle Of his seven-hide shield.
It screeched and went through the center Of his thigh. Huge Turnus doubled his knee and fell To the earth with the
blow. The Rutulians rose with a moan, And all the hills echoed
around, and the groves full of tall trees Gave back the sound. Then Turnus, humble and pleading, Lifted his eyes, stretched
out his right hand, and spoke : "This is what I have
deserved; I ask for no quarter. Make use of your fortune of war. If love for
your father Can touch you, I beg-you had once Anchises for parent Such as I have-take pity on Daunus, an old man, And give me to him, or my
body when stripped, if you wish, To my people. It's you who
have won, the Ausonians see That I lift up my palms in
defeat. Lavinia now is Your wife. Carry hatred no
further." Aeneas stood fiercely Rolling his eyes and drew
back his right hand from striking. Now, now Turnus' prayer had begun its effect on Aeneas As he faltered. An unlucky
sword-belt appeared on the shoulder Of !urnus,
high up; its buckle shone brightly with bosses 9 Well-known; Turnus stripped it from Pallas, the boy, when he killed him, And wore on his shoulder
the enemy's ensign. Aeneas, When he had absorbed with
his eyes the spoils and reminder Of his bitter sorrow, afire
with fury and anger, Spoke terribly:
"Shall you escape me with spoils you have taken From those I have loved ? Pallas with this wound shall slay you In sacrifice, Pallas
exacts from your villainous blood His penalty
!" Saying this, burning with anger, he buried His sword in the enemy's
chest. Then Turnus went slack In his arms and his legs
with the chill of death, and his life 9 Fled with a
groan indignantly down to the shadows. Vergil
Aeneid 12, 919-952 |