Odes

Horace

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

Their fathers' worth, nor weakling dove

Is hatch'd in savage eagle's nest.

But care draws forth the power within,

And cultured minds are strong for good:

Let manners fail, the plague of sin

Taints e'en the course of gentle blood.

How great thy debt to Nero's race,

O Rome, let red Metaurus say,

Slain Hasdrubal, and victory's grace

First granted on that glorious day

Which chased the clouds, and show'd the sun,

When Hannibal o'er Italy

Ran, as swift flames o'er pine-woods run,

Or Eurus o'er Sicilia's sea.

Henceforth, by fortune aiding toil,

Rome's prowess grew: her fanes, laid waste

By Punic sacrilege and spoil,

Beheld at length their gods replaced.

Then the false Libyan own'd his doom:—

“Weak deer, the wolves' predestined prey,