Venus, If You Will :: Albi, Ne Doleas :: 1:33

Like the Frankie Avalon song, written by Ed Mitchell, Horace's ode is about Venus and love. But Horace's rejoinder to Mitchell's lines:— 

Venus, if you will,

Please send a little girl for me to thrill

A girl who wants my kisses and my arms

A girl with all the charms of you

( . . . . )

Venus, goddess of love that you are

Surely the things I ask

Can't be too great a task

would be: don't count on it.

People like Albius Tibullus (born 54 BC), the supposed addressee in Horace's ode, can write all the love songs and pretty elegies that they want, but, according to Horace, the goddess of love has a bit of a mean streak and loves a good joke, mismatching lovers in temperament and social status and delighting in those who are liars and cheats.

Here's a late nineteenth-century painting by Alma-Tadema of Albius Tibullus.

A lot of Tibullus' poetry still exists, which some scholars say is pleasant but monotonous. I haven't read it. Perhaps Horace was poking fun at Tibullus in this ode. It is hard to say.  Maybe the two poets had a good laugh over this poem, especially when Horace recounts his own exploits with a freedwoman name Myrtale. "Ipsum me," Horace writes, beginning his tale, as if to say "brother, you don't know the half of it!" 

There are a lot of names in this ode. They are probably all fictitious, but who knows whether they were code names for well-placed figures in high society? Glycera, Lycoris, and Myrtale were often the names of concubines, courtesans, freedwomen, and just plain women of the street. 

There are two expressions in this ode worth noting. The first is tenui fronte, which means a small forehead, that is, one made small with the hair combed forward, as painted by Alma-Tadema in the picture above. The ancients considered tenuis frons a mark of beauty.  All I can think of is Ruth Buzzi on the sixties show, Laugh-In. Not pretty.

Another interesting expression uses the word caprea, which can either mean 'she-goat' or 'doe.'  I think of deers and goats separately, but apparently, our Indo-European ancestors, linguistically speaking, did not.  For example, in English, a 'buck' doesn't just refer to male deer. It is also the male of several species, including our own. A thousand years ago 'buck' was bucca, a 'male goat.' ('Buck,' by the way, is related to the Persian word بُــز boz 'goat.') At any rate, for Horace, mating goats/deers with wolves is a metaphor for the impossible.

translation:

Albius, don't suffer much too much over your

sour sweetie, singing miserable love songs on why,

the trust now violated, a guy your junior 

outdazzles you.

Take the remarkable Licoris small of forehead—

her love for Cyrus is burning her up. Cyrus 

though has put her off for Pholoe, who would no more 

sully herself

with such a fowl lover than Apulian wolves

would with goats. Thus the will of Venus, who loves to 

pair mismatched bodies and souls under her bronze yoke, 

for a cruel laugh.

When a high-class venus asked for me, the ex-slave

Myrtle detained me with a pleasing leg iron, 

more biting than the sea, curve-carving the bays of 

Calabria.

translation ©2010 by James Rumford

in prose:

[O] Albi, plus nimio memor Glycerae immitis ne doleas neu elegos miserabiles decantes cur, fide laesa, [vir] iunior tibi praeniteat. Amor Cyri ‹Lycorida tenui fronte insignem› torret. Cyrus in Pholoen asperam declinat, sed capreae lupis Apulis iungentur prius quam Pholoe adultero turpi peccet. Sic visum [est] Veneri, cui placet formas atque animos impares sub iuga aenea cum ioco saevo mittere. Cum Venus melior me ipsum peteret, Myrtale libertina compede grata [me ipsum] detinuit, acrior fretis Hadriae, sinus Calabros curvantis.  
[revised March 27, 2015]

original:

Albī, nē doleās plūs nimiō memor

immītis Glycerae nēu miserābilıs

dēcantēs elegōs, cūr tibi iūnior

   laesā praeniteat fide.

insignem tenuī fronte Lycōrida

Cȳrī torret amor, Cȳrus in asperam

dēclīnat Pholoen: sed prius āpulīs

   iūngentur capreae lupīs

quam turpī Pholoē peccet adulterō.

Sīc vīsum Venerī, cui placet imparıs        

formās atque animōs sub iuga aēnea

   saevō mittere cum iocō.

ipsum mē melior cum peteret Venus,

grātā dētinuit compede Myrtalē

lībertīna, fretīs acrior Hādriae

   curvantis Calabrōs sinūs

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.

Don't Go! :: Icci, Beatis Nunc :: I:29

The year is 26 BC. There is to be a military expedition led by Aelius Gallus to Arabia. Horace's friend, Iccius, has decided to do what Horace never thought he would: abandon his books and his studies and seek his fortune as a soldier in Happy Arabia, the Arabia Felix of untold wealth.

But this is a don't-count-your-chickens-before-they're-hatched poem: war doesn't always lead to wealth. It's a now-I've-seen-everything poem: bibliophiles don't always make good soldiers. 

Thus, there is a warning implied in this poem: Iccius, be careful.

There is also irony:  Iccius, you may have read the works of Panaetius, a Stoic philosopher, who wrote the book On Duties (Περὶ τοῦ Καθήκοντος), but is it your duty to enrich yourself on the spoils of war?

Early commentators remarked on the irony of this poem. Centuries later, editors wielding commas, periods, and question marks emphasized irony, for, to those who know Horace's poetry well, this poem comes as a surprise. Usually this Roman Rudyard Kipling is quick to rattle the saber and hoist the banner for the sake of the Empire, but not, for some reason, in the case of Iccius.

Who was this friend of his? A Mr. Milktoast, who although caught up in the fever of war, might perish in the sands of Arabia? Or was this a Lawrence of Arabia, destined for greatness? Or was he Horace's alter ego—a scholar who would abandon libri for loricae? Did Horace want to go,too, but, since he was unable, decided to ridicule his friend's efforts instead? All we know for sure is that Aelius Gallus' expedition ended in disaster. Most of the soldiers perished in the sands of Araby. Did Horace's friend die there, too?

Horace uses a few exotic words to add to the allure of the East. Gaza, treasure, comes from the Persian word ganj, گنج, which came to Latin via the Greek γάζα. (Ganj is found in the Bible, predictably in the Book of Esther, chapter iii:9 as גנזי המלכ.) The Sabaeae are the Sabeans or Shebans from Yeman, famous for their perfumes and one of the reasons that Arabia was so 'happy,' as traders came from all over the world to get the fragrances their customers desired. The word Sericas, 'Chinese' is also exotic. It means 'silk peoples' and comes ultimately from the Chinese word si 絲, silk.

translation: 

Iccius—you greedy now for the rich treasures 

of the Arabs? Prepared for a tough army life? 

Even before Sheba's kings are conquered? Before 

you've put the horrible Mede in chains? Which of the 

barbarous maidens, her husband dead, will serve you? 

What prince, his hair oiled, taught to shoot Chinese arrows 

with his father's bow, will stand by ready with the 

wine ladle? Who'd ever deny streams could flow up

steep hills or the Tiber flow backwards now that you, 

destined for better things, wish to trade for Spanish

breastplates the books on famous Panaetius and 

the Socratic school you purchased here and there?

translation © 2010 by James Rumford

in prose:

Icci, nunc gazis beatis Arabum invides et militiam acrem paras non ante regibus Sabaeae devictis, Medoque horribili catenas nectis? 

Quae barbara virginum, sponso necato, tibi serviet? 

Quis puer ex aula, capillis unctis, sagittas Sericas arcu paterno tendere doctus, ad cyathum statuetur? 

Quis neget rivos pronos posse montibus arduis relabi et Tiberim reverti, cum tu tendis libros ‹Panaeti nobilis undique coemptos› et domum Socraticam loricis Hiberis mutare? 

Meliora pollicitus [es]! 

[revised March 27, 2015]

links:  an interesting site with links to Latin dictionaries of all kinds: http://www.lexilogos.com/english/latin_dictionary.htm

original:

Iccī, beātīs nunc Arabum invidēs

gāzīs et acrem mīlitiam parās

   nōn ante dēvictīs Sabaeae

        rēgibus horribilīque Mēdō

nectis catēnās? quae tibi virginum

sponsō necātō barbara serviet?

   puer quis ex aulā capillīs

        ad cyathum statuētur unctīs,

doctus sagittās tendere Sēricās

arcū paternō? quis neget arduīs

   prōnōs relābī posse rīvōs

        montibus et Tiberim revertī,

cum tū coēmptōs undique nōbilis

librōs Panāetī Sōcraticam et domum

   mūtāre lōrīcīs Hibērīs,

        pollicitus meliōra, tendis?

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.

Hyperbaton Revisited

In my blog of September 15 of last year, I talked about hyperbaton, that trick that Latin poets love to play on the unsuspecting: jumbling up the sentence so that adjectives get separated from the nouns they modify and nouns from the nouns they go to.  Here is a well-known example of an adjective divorced from its noun:

magnā cum laude 

If we added puerī [of the boy],  school-book Latin would yield:

cum laude magnā puerī

But if we "hyperbated" the phrase, we might get:

puerī magnā cum laude.

Latin can do this fancy stuff because it is a highly inflected language. The gender of nouns and the different case endings tell the reader how to put the sentence back together after the poet has "destroyed" it for his own purposes. If you saw a phrase like:

magnī cum laude

you had better be looking for a noun to stick magnī  to, because it couldnʻt, per Hercule, go with laude, a feminine noun in the ablative case. 

There is, of course, another possibility. Maybe magnī doesnʻt go with any noun, but is a noun itself meaning "of the great one."

This "other" possibility has led me to realize something about hyperbaton. What if every noun and every adjective in Latin at some level in the Roman mind was a unit of meaning complete in itself? What if magnā didnʻt just mean 'great' but 'from the great feminine one'?  

It is hard to make sense of this in English because we no longer make adjectives agree in gender. Try French: de la grande. 

To a Frenchman, there is no need to look for a noun to stick grande to. In his mind 'grande' can either be an adjective or a noun. In other words, it is complete in itself, and for the Frenchman as well as for speakers of thousands of other languages, the distinction between adjectives and nouns is not so clear. Adjectives can be nouns. Unfortunately, this is not a feature of English.  We cannot say 'the big' and leave it at that. We have to add 'one,' making a clumsy ʻthe big one.' 

In lines 3 and 4 of yesterday's ode O DIVA GRATUM we find the adjective/noun superbōs [proud] being separated from its noun triumphōs [triumphal parade]:

superbos vertere funeribus triumphos

What if the Roman mind interpreted Horace in this way?

the proud-ones   to-turn   into-funerals   the-triumphal-parades

In other words, what if the Latin speaker wasnʻt as bothered by superbōs being suspended in midair as I am? To him superbōs could either stand alone or be attached to a noun. Then when he came to triumphōs, which agrees in gender, number, and case with superbōs, his mind automatically connected the two.

The endings in Latin make it possible to think of each word as a little bundle of meaning. These bundles can either stand alone or attach themselves to larger bundles, depending on the context. 

In lines 5 —6, we find pauper [poor] separated from colonus [tenant farmer] by four words:

te pauper ambit sollicita prece ruris colonus

This is an extreme case of hyperbaton and it offers a good example for English speakers of what must have gone through the Roman mind as he decoded Horaceʻs words:

you     the-pauper circles    with-the-solicited-one

So far so good. Everything makes sense. Now comes

   with-the-prayer 

Since with-the-prayer matches in case and gender with-the-solicited-one, they are merged yielding:

with-the-solicited prayer. 

Next comes: 

of-the-countryside   tenant-farmer 

The Roman interprets this easily as: 

the tenant farmer of the countryside.

Now the Roman does something extraordinary—to us English speakers. He realizes that he must decide whether pauper is a noun or an adjective. Since the sentence cannot have two subjects, he merges pauper with colonus and comes up with 'the poor tenant farmer.'

The dual nature of Latin adjectives—that they can be both adjectives and nouns—has been a revelation for me and lets me understand a bit more how and why hyperbaton works in Latin.

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.

The Dominatrix :: O Diva Gratum :: I:35

On January 22, 1944, the Allies landed at Anzio Beach. On that fateful day, I wonder who among those fighting recalled this ode dedicated to the goddess of fortune and her temple overlooking the Mediterranean at Anzio Beach. If anyone did, they probably shuddered. This ode is no uplifting psalm, no comfort but a sobering prayer to an uncontrollable, unpredictable, unmerciful power. The goddess was not kind to the bungling Allies that day, favoring instead the Germans. No matter, after she had had enough of the Allies, she would eventually turn on the Germans and scatter their plans for world domination to the winds.

Fittingly, no ruins of the Fortune's temple have ever been found at Anzio, called Antium in Horace's day. There is only this ode to remind us of the human condition: we hope, we pray, but, in the end, all will come to naught—her temple and even this poem.

a few notes: 

Bithynia is now in modern Turkey. The Carpathian Sea is a rough stretch of water in the Aegean between Crete and Rhodes. The Dacians inhabited what is now Romania. The Scythians were an Iranian people and a particular group of them the Massagetae are mentioned in the last line of this ode. (It is interesting to note, in passing, how ancient the hatred and mistrust is between the West on the one side and the Iranians and the Arabs on the other—and Horace was writing six hundred years before the advent of Islam!)

The 'purple tyrants' refers to the purple robes rulers wore, and 'veiled in white' has something to do with how the priests covered the statue's hand. Apparently, the priest of Fides (Faith, Loyalty) covered their right hand with white cloth as well to protect it from pollution. See Livy, I.21.4.).  Fortune was often depicted carrying symbols of power: large spikes, wedges, anchoring hooks (for joining large blocks of stone) and lead (for cementing the hooks in place.) On some ancient coins, she carries both a cornucopia and a rudder. These two things Horace refers to when talking of the farmer and the sailor in the Carpathian Sea. 

The 'standing column' is a metaphor for the state. Finally, Horace's mention of Caesar about to leave for Britain and the army ready to do battle in the Middle East helps scholars date this poem to around 27 BC.

my translation:  

O goddess, who rules welcoming Antium,

in an flash, you either raise mortals from 

the depths or twist a triumphal march

into a funeral procession.

You the poor country farmer circles with 

begging prayers, you, dominatrix-of-seas,

one calls, who, in a Bithynian 

ship has provoked the Carpathian Sea;

you the rough Dacians, you the Scythians 

in flight, the cities and people, even 

fierce Rome and mothers of uncivil

kings and purple tyrants, they fear,

lest you topple the standing column with

a deadly kick, lest the people in mobs

rouse the reluctant ones to arms! to 

arms! and then shatter their empires. 

You wild Necessity always precedes,

carrying timber spikes and wedges in 

her bronze-hard hand, not to mention the  

serious anchor hooks and molten lead.

You Hope and rare Trust, her hand veiled in white,

worship; they do not withdraw their favor, 

whenever you, having changed clothes,

forsake the houses of the powerful.

But the faithless crowd, like a lying whore, 

turns away, just as crafty friends do 

who feign to share the yoke, but run off 

once they have drained the wine jars to the dregs.

Keep Caesar bound for the far reaches of 

Britain safe as well as the swarm of new

recruits bringing fear to the East and 

the Red Sea. Alas, shame on the scars, the 

wickedness, on brother against brother. 

What do we, a hard generation, flee? 

What do we hostile to divine law 

leave intact? When does the youth stay his hand 

for fear of the gods? What altars have they 

spared? Oh, if only you would reshape on

a new anvil the blunted iron 

against the Arabs and the Massagetae.

translation © 2010 by James Rumford

in prose:

O diva, [tu] quae Antium gratum regis, praesens vel corpus mortale de gradu imo tollere vel triumphos superbos funeribus vertere. 

Colonus pauper ruris te prece sollicita ambit. Quicumque pelagus Carpathium [in] carina Bithyna lacessit, te dominam aequoris [prece ambit]. 

Te Dacus asper, te Scythae profugi, urbesque, gentesque et Latium ferox, matresque regum barbarorum et tyranni purpurei metuunt, ne columnam stantem [tuo] pede iniurioso proruas, neu populus frequens cessantes “ad arma! ad arma!” concitet, imperiumque frangat. 

Necessitas saeva te semper anteit, clavos trabales et cuneos manu aena gestans nec uncus severus abest liquidumque plumbum.

 Spes et Fides rara, panno albo velata, te colit, nec comitem abnegat, utcumque, mutata veste, [tu] inimica domos potentis linquis. At vulgus infidum ut meretrix periura, retro cedit. Amici, dolosi iugum pariter ferre, cadis cum faece siccatis, diffugiunt. 

[Tu] serves Caesarem in orbes Britannos ultimos iturum et examen recens iuvenum partibus Eois Oceanoque rubro timendum. 

Heu, heu! Cicatricum et sceleris fratrumque pudet! 

Quid nos, aetas dura, refugimus?

Quid [nos] nefasti intactum liquimus? 

Unde iuventus manum metu deorum continuet? 

Quibus aris [iuventus] pepercit? 

O utinam ferrum incude nova retusum in Massagetas Arabasque diffingas!

 [revised  March 27, 2015]

original ode:

Ō dīva, grātum quae regis Antium,

praesēns vel īmō tollere dē gradū

   mortāle corpus vel superbōs

        vertere fūneribus triumphōs,

tē pauper ambit sollicitā prece

rūris colōnus, tē dominam aequoris

   quīcumque Bīthȳnā lacessit

        Carpathium pelagus carīnā.

tē Dācus asper, tē profugī Scythae,

urbēsque gentēsque et Latium ferox

   rēgumque mātrēs barbarōrum et

        purpureī metuunt tyrannī,

iniūriōsō nē pede prōruās

stantem columnam, nēu populus frequēns

   ad arma cessantıs, ad arma

        concitet imperiumque frangat.

tē semper anteit saeva Necessitās,

clāvōs trabālıs et cuneōs manū

   gestāns ǎēnā nec sevērus

        uncus abest liquidumque plumbum;

tē Spēs et albō rāra Fidēs colit

vēlāta pannō nec comitem abnegat,

   utcumque mūtātā potentis

        veste domōs inimīca linquis.

at vulgus infīdum ut^[et] meretrix retrō

periūra cēdit, diffūgiunt cadīs

   cum faece sīccātīs amīcī,

        ferre iugum pariter dolōsī.

servēs itūrum Caesarem in ultimōs

orbıs Britannōs et iuvenum recēns

   exāmen ēōīs timendum

        partibus ōceanōque rubrō.

hēu hēu, cicātrīcum et sceleris pudet

frātrumque. Quid nōs dūra refūgimus

   aetās, quid intactum nefastī

        līquimus? unde manum iuventus

metū deōrum continuit? quibus

pepercit ārīs? ō utinam novā

   incūde dīffingās retūsum in

        Massagetās Arabāsque ferrum!

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.

A Sometime Temple-goer :: Parcus Deorum Cultor :: 1:34

The problem that languages learners face is simple: they may know all the words but they don't know the meaning. 

The problem that poetry readers faces is similar: they may know the meaning of the words but they don't know the meaning behind them.

Today's ode is a good example. I pretty much figured out the meaning, but I didn't know what Horace was talking about.

Here's my translation:

A stingy, sometime temple-goer, 

an adept of insane wisdom,

erring but now sailing 

back over the path I'd left,

for does not Jupiter often 

split the clouds with gleaming fire 

and did he not across

a clear sky drive his horses 

thundering and his chariot flying,

shaking the brutish earth 

and the wandering streams, 

the Styx, the hated seat of hell,

and the Atlas end of the earth?

God can change those at the bottom 

with those on top, raze the famous

and bring into prominence

the obscure; there greedy fate's

snatched up the crown with a sharp cry, 

here she's happily laid it down.  

translation ©2010 by James Rumford

Now here's a bit of the meaning behind the words:

Horace sometimes went to the temple, but didn't bring a generous offering because he was into Epicureanism, which emphasized the neutrality of the gods in the affairs of men. Now, after some time, he sees the error of his ways. He no longer believes the well-known Epicurean argument against the gods, which states that they cannot do the impossible. They cannot send a lightning bolt down out of a clear blue sky. Middle-aged Horace sees a different world: one ruled by the gods who can bring down the high and raise up the low. Then he refers to the extraordinary event some five hundred years earlier when Tarquinius Priscus, fifth king of Rome, entered the city and an eagle took his pilleus (a conical felt cap), flew away and then returned it to his head as if commissioned by heaven for this service, as related by Livy in book I.34:

 Ad Ianiculum forte ventum erat; ibi ei carpento sedenti cum uxore aquila suspensis demissa leviter alis pilleum aufert, superque carpentum cum magno clangore volitans rursus velut ministerio divinitus missa capiti apte reponit; inde sublimis abiit. 

Now comes the interpretation. How much of an Epicurean was Horace? Did he really have a mid-life crisis and return to the old ways? Did he really think that man was ruled by fate? Or was he hedging his bets? No answers yet, but stay tuned.

in prose:

[Ego] cultor parcus et deorum infrequens, dum consultus sapientiae insanientis erro, nunc cogor retrorsum vela dare atque cursus relictos iterare. 

Namque Diespiter igni corusco nubila plerumque dividens, per purum equos tonantes currumque volucrem egit, quo tellus bruta et flumina vaga, quo Styx horrida et sedes Taenari invisi finesque Atlanteus concutitur. Deus valet ima summis mutare et insignem attenuat, obscura promens. 

Fortuna rapax apicem cum stridore acuto hinc sustulit. Gaudet hic posuisse.

[revised March 27, 2015]

original text:

Parcus deōrum cultor et infrequēns,

insānientis dum sapientiae

   consultus errō, nunc retrorsum

         vēla dare atque iterāre cursūs

cōgor relictōs: namque Diespiter

ignī coruscō nūbila dīvidēns

   plērumque, per purum tonantıs

        ēgit equōs volǔcremque currum,

quō brūta tellūs et vaga flūmina,

quō Styx et invīsī horrida Taenarī

   sēdēs Atlantēusque fīnıs

        concutitur. valet īma sūmmīs

mūtāre et insignem attenuat deus,

obscūra prōmēns;  hinc apicem rapax

   fortūna cum strīdōre acūtō

        sustulit, hīc posuisse gaudet.

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.