Odes Horace Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882. While years are green, while sullen eldIs distant. Now the walk, the game,The whisper'd talk at sunset held,Each in its hour, prefer their claim.Sweet too the laugh, whose feign'd alarmThe hiding-place of beauty tells,The token, ravish'd from the armOr finger, that but ill rebels.