Odes

Horace

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

Of his own village home; but soon, ashamed

Of penury, he refits his batter'd craft.

There is, who thinks no scorn of Massic draught,

Who robs the daylight of an hour unblamed,

Now stretch'd beneath the arbute on the sward,

Now by some gentle river's sacred spring;

Some love the camp, the clarion's joyous ring,

And battle, by the mother's soul abhorr'd.