Odes

Horace

Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882.

Heaven is my guardian; heaven approves

A blameless life, by song made sweet;

Come hither, and the fields and groves

Their horn shall empty at your feet.

Here, shelter'd by a friendiy tree,

In Teian measures you shall sing

Bright Circe and Penelope,

Love-smitten both by one sharp sting.

Here shall you quaff beneath the shade

Sweet Lesbian draughts that injure none,

Nor fear lest Mars the realm invade

Of Semele's Thyonian son,

Lest Cyrus on a foe too weak

Lay the rude hand of wild excess,

His passion on your chaplet wreak,

Or spoil your undeserving dress.

Varus, are your trees in planting? put in none before the vine,

In the rich domain of Tibur, by the walls of Catilus;

There's a power above that hampers all that sober brains design,

And the troubles man is heir to thus are quell'd, and only thus.