Odes

Horace

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

Is hatch'd on earth, he dealt in all—

Who planted in my rural stead

Thee, fatal wood, thee, sure to fall

Upon thy blameless master's head.

The dangers of the hour! no thought

We give them; Punic seaman's fear

Is all of Bosporus, nor aught

Reeks he of pitfalls otherwhere;

The soldier fears the mask'd retreat

Of Parthia; Parthia dreads the thrall

Of Rome; but Death with noiseless feet

Has stolen and will steal on all.

How near dark Pluto's court I stood,

And Aeacus' judicial throne,

The blest seclusion of the good,

And Sappho, with sweet lyric moan

Bewailing her ungentle sex,

And thee, Alcaeus, louder far

Chanting thy tale of woful wrecks,

Of woful exile, woful war!