Odes

Horace

Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor

  • Speaking through him:—“Home in ill hour you take
  • A prize whom Greece shall claim with troops untold,
  • Leagued by an oath your marriage tie to break
  • And Priam's kingdom old.
  • Alas! what deaths you launch on Dardan realm!
  • What tolls are waiting, man and horse to tire!
  • See! Pallas trims her aegis and her helm,
  • Her chariot and her ire.
  • Vainly shall you; in Venus' favour strong,
  • Your tresses comb, and for your dames divide
  • On peaceful lyre the several parts of song;
  • Vainly in chamber hide
  • From spears and Gnossian arrows, barb'd with fate,
  • And battle's din, and Ajax in the chase
  • Unconquer'd; those adulterous locks, though late,
  • Shall gory dust deface.
  • Hark! 'tis the death-cry of your race! look back!
  • Ulysses comes, and Pylian Nestor grey;
  • See! Salaminian Teucer on your track,
  • And Sthenelus, in the fray