Odes

Horace

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

Aye, let her scatter far and wide

Her terror, where tbe land-lock'd waves

Europe from Afric's shore divide,

Where swelling Nile the corn-field laves—

Of strength more potent to disdain

Hid gold, best buried in the mine,

Than gather it with hand profane,

That for man's greed would rob a shrine.

Whate'er the bound to earth ordain'd,

There let her reach the arm of power,

Travelling, where raves the fire unrein'd,

And where the storm-cloud and the shower.

Yet, warlike Roman, know thy doom,

Nor, drunken with a conqueror's joy,

Or blind with duteous zeal, presume

To build again ancestral Troy.

Should Troy revive to hateful life,

Her star again should set in gore,

While I, Jove's sister and his wife,

To victory led my host once more.