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

  • Of ancient Saturn. You, Maecenas, best
  • In pictured prose of Caesar's warrior feats
  • Will tell, and captive kings with haughty crest
  • Led through the Roman streets.
  • On me the Muse has laid her charge to tell
  • Of your Licymnia's voice, the lustrous hue
  • Of her bright eye, her heart that beats so well
  • To mutual passion true:
  • 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?