Odes

Horace

Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor

  • 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