Odes

Horace

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

How nought she does but lends her added grace,

Whether she dance, or join in bantering play,

Or with soft arms the maiden choir embrace

On great Diana's day.

Say, would you change for all the wealth possest

By rich Achaemenes or Phrygia's heir,

Or the full stores of Araby the blest,

One lock of her dear hair,

While to your burning lips she bends her neck,

Or with kind cruelty denies the due

She means you not to beg for, but to take,

Or snatches it from you?

Black day he chose for planting thee,

Accurst he rear'd thee from the ground,

The bane of children yet to be,

The scandal of the village round.

His father's throat the monster press'd

Beside, and on his hearthstone spilt,

I ween, the blood of midnight guest;

Black Colchian drugs, whate'er of guilt