Odes

Horace

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

Thee Dacians fierce, and Scythian hordes,

Peoples and towns, and Rome, their head,

And mothers of barbarian lords,

And tyrants in their purple dread,

Lest, spurn'd by thee in scorn, should fall

The state's tall prop, lest crowds on fire

To arms, to arms! the loiterers call,

And thrones be tumbled in the mire.

Necessity precedes thee still

With hard fierce eyes and heavy tramp:

Her hand the nails and wedges fill,

The molten lead and stubborn clamp.

Hope, precious Truth in garb of white,

Attend thee still, nor quit thy side

When with changed robes thou tak'st thy flight

In anger from the homes of pride.

Then the false herd, the faithless fair,

Start backward; when the wine runs dry.

The jocund guests, too light to bear

An equal yoke, asunder fly.