Odes

Horace

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

Or bid the boxer or the steed

In deathless pride of victory live,

And dower them with a nobler meed

Than sculptors give,

Or mourn the bridegroom early torn

From his young bride, and set on high

Strength, courage, virtue's golden morn,

Too good to die.

Antonius! yes, the winds blow free,

When Dirce's swan ascends the skies,

To waft him. I, like Matine bee,

In act and guise,

That culls its sweets through toilsome hours,

Am roaming Tibur's banks along,

And fashioning with puny powers

A laboured song.

Your Muse shall sing in loftier strain

How Caesar climbs the sacred height,

The fierce Sygambrians in his train,

With laurel dight,