Odes

Horace

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

Soracte! 'neath the pressure yield

Its groaning woods; the torrents' flow

With clear sharp ice is all congeal'd.

Heap high the logs, and melt the cold,

Good Thaliarch; draw the wine we ask,

That mellower vintage, four-year-old,

From out the cellar'd Sabine cask.

The future trust with Jove; when he

Has still'd the warring tempests' roar

On the vex'd deep, the cypress-tree

And aged ash are rock'd no more.

O, ask not what the morn will bring,

But count as gain each day that chance