Odes Horace Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882. No dirges for my fancied death;No weak lament, no mournful stave;All clamorous grief were waste of breath,And vain the tribute of a grave.Bid the unhallow'd crowd avaunt!Keep holy silence; strains unknownTill now, the Muses' hierophant,I sing to youths and maids alone.Kings o'er their flocks the sceptre wield;E'en kings beneath Jove's sceptre bow:Victor in giant battle-field,He moves all nature with his brow.