Odes

Horace

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

With you I shared Philippi's rout,

Unseemly parted from my shield,

When Valour fell, and warriors stout

Were tumbled on the inglorious field:

But I was saved by Mercury,

Wrapp'd in thick mist, yet trembling sore,

While you to that tempestuous sea

Were swept by battle's tide once more.

Come, pay to Jove the feast you owe;

Lay down those limbs, with warfare spent,

Beneath my laurel; nor be slow

To drain my cask; for you 'twas meant.

Lethe's true draught is Massic wine;

Fill high the goblet; pour out free

Rich streams of unguent. Who will twine

The hasty wreath from myrtle-tree

Or parsley? Whom will Venus seat

Chairman of cups? Are Bacchants sane?

Then I'll be sober. O, 'tis sweet

To fool, when friends come home again!