Odes

Horace

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

There's stir among the serving folk;

They bustle, bustle, boy and girl;

The flickering flames send up the smoke

In many a curl.

But why, you ask, this special cheer?

We celebrate the feast of Ides,

Which April's month, to Venus dear,

In twain divides.

O, 'tis a day for reverence,

E'en my own birthday scarce so dear,

For my Maecenas counts from thence

Each added year.

'Tis Telephus that you'd bewitch:

But he is of a high degree;

Bound to a lady fair and rich,

He is not free.

O think of Phaethon half burn'd,

And moderate your passion's greed:

Think how Bellerophon was spurn'd

By his wing'd steed.