Odes Horace Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882. Me, too, Orion's mate, the Southern blast,Whelm'd in deep death beneath the Illyrian wave.But grudge not, sailor, of driven sand to castA handful on my head, that owns no grave.So, though the eastern tempests loudly threatHesperia's main, may green Venusia's crownBe stripp'd, while you lie warm; may blessings yetStream from Tarentum's guard, great Neptune, down,