Odes

Horace

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

For ever flow'd. At length have done

With these soft sorrows; rather tell

Of Caesar's trophies newly won,

And hoar Niphates' icy fell,

And Medus' flood, 'mid conquer'd tribes

Rolling a less presumptuous tide,

And Scythians taught, as Rome prescribes,

Henceforth o'er narrower steppes to ride.

Licinius, trust a seaman's lore:

Steer not too boldly to the deep,

Nor, fearing storms, by treacherous shore

Too closely creep.

Who makes the golden mean his guide,

Shuns miser's cabin, foul and dark,

Shuns gilded roofs, where pomp and pride

Are envy's mark.

With fiercer blasts the pine's dim height

Is rock'd; proud towers with heavier fall

Crash to the ground; and thunders smite

The mountains tall.