Odes

Horace

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

  • Ay, Venus smiles; the pure nymphs smile,
  • And Cupid, tyrant-lord of hearts,
  • Sharpening on bloody stone the while
  • His fiery darts.
  • New captives fill the nets you weave;
  • New slaves are bred; and those before,
  • Though oft they threaten, never leave
  • Your godless door.
  • The mother dreads you for her son,
  • The thrifty sire, the new-wed bride,
  • Lest, lured by you, her precious one
  • Should leave her side.
  • The rain, it rains not every day
  • On the soak'd meads; the Caspian main
  • Not always feels the unequal sway
  • Of storms, nor on Armenia's plain,
  • Dear Valgius, lies the cold dull snow
  • Through all the year; nor northwinds keen
  • Upon Garganian oakwoods blow,
  • And strip the ashes of their green.