Odes

Horace

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

Woe to the eyes you dazzle without cloud

Untried! For me, they show in yonder fane

My dripping garments, vow'd

To Him who curbs the main.

Not I, but Varius:—he, of Homer's brood

A tuneful swan, shall bear you on his wing,

Your tale of trophies, won by field or flood,

Mighty alike to sing.

Not mine such themes, Agrippa; no, nor mine

To chant the Wrath that fill'd Pelides' breast,

Nor dark Ulysses' wanderings o'er the brine,

Nor Pelops' house unblest.