Odes

Horace

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

  • When guilty Pomp the drawn sword sees
  • Hung o'er her, richest feasts in vain
  • Strain their sweet juice her taste to please;
  • No lutes, no singing birds again
  • Will bring her sleep. Sleep knows no pride;
  • It scorns not cots of village hinds,
  • Nor shadow-trembling river-side,
  • Nor Tempe, stirr'd by western winds.