Odes Horace Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882. No Persian cumber, boy, for me;I hate your garlands linden-plaited;Leave winter's rose where on the treeIt hangs belated.Wreath me plain myrtle; never thinkPlain myrtle either's wear unfitting,Yours as you wait, mine as I drinkIn vine-bower sitting.The broils that from Metellus date,The secret springs, the dark intrigues,The freaks of Fortune, and the greatConfederate in disastrous leagues,