It was natural that Horace, more
than Virgil, should be the object of its neglect, and even of its active
enmity. Horace is the most completely pagan of poets whose works are of
spiritual import. The only immortality of which he takes account is the
immortality of fame. Aside from this, the end of man is dust and shadow.
It is true that in the depth of his heart he does not feel with
Democritus, Epicurus, and Lucretius that "Dust thou art, to dust
returnest" is spoken of soul as well as body. The old Roman instinct for
ancestor-communion is too strong in him for that. But he acquiesces in
their doctrine in so far as shadowy existence in another world inspires
in him no pleasing hope. He displays no trace of the faith in the
supernatural which accompanies the Christian hope of happy immortality.
He contains none of the expressions of yearning for communion with the
divine, of self-abasement in the presence of the eternal, which belong
to Christian poetry. The flights of his muse rarely take him into the
realm of a divine love and providence. His aspirations are for things
achievable in this world: for faithfulness in friendship, for enduring
courage, for irreproachable patriotism,--in short, for ideal _human_
relations.
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