Country Honey

"Julius Martial's acres--they're few,
but more happily situated
than the gardens of the Hesperides--
lie along the sweeping ridge
of the Janiculum. Broad
ravines slope upward to the summit
and the level, gently swelling top
opens to an untroubled sky
which shines with a light peculiarly
its own, even when cloudiness
obscures the curving valleys.
The dainty roof of the tall house
rises gracefully toward the clear stars.

On one side you can look out
on the seven proud hills and survey
the whole city of Rome, and the Alban
Hills and the hills of Tusculum,
and the cool suburbs nearby
the city: ancient Fidenae
and tiny Rubrae and the orchard
groves where Anna Perenna's
worshippers revel in the sacrifice
of maidenheads.

On the other
we can see the traveller driving
along in his silent carriage
on the Via Flaminia
or the Salarian highway.
His wheels can never disturb
our soothing sleep, which neither
the calls to the rowers or the cries
of the bargemen are strong enough
to break, though the Mulvian Bridge
and the boats as they glide so swiftly
on the holy Tiber seem so near.

The owner offers his country house
(if it shouldn't be called a town house)
freely to guests. You'd think
it was yours, it's open to you
so courteously and ungrudgingly--
with such gracious hospitality.
You'd think it the friendly house
of Odysseus' host, Alcinous,
or that of Molorchus, just after
Hercules repaid his kindness
with sudden prosperity.

But if you're the kind who thinks
all this still isn't big enough,
you're welcome to farm the whole town
of Tibur, or even Praeneste,
with a hundred hoes, or assign
the hillside town of Setia
to one overseer. For me
Julius Martial's few acres
are preferable to them all."

-Martial, IV.lxiv (tr. B. Mills)