Odes Horace Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882. Telephus—you praise him still,His waxen arms, his rosy-tinted neck;Ah! and all the while I thrillWith jealous pangs I cannot, cannot checkSee, my colour comes and goes,My poor heart flutters, Lydia, and the dew,Down my cheek soft stealing, showsWhat lingering torments rack me through and through.