Odes

Horace

Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor

  • This man his planted walks extends
  • Beyond his peers; an older name
  • One to the people's choice commends;
  • One boasts a more unsullied fame;
  • One plumes him on a larger crowd
  • Of clients. What are great or small?
  • Death takes the mean man with the proud;
  • The fatal urn has room for all.
  • 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.
  • Who, having competence, has all,
  • The tumult of the sea defies,
  • Nor fears Arcturus' angry fall,
  • Nor fears the Kid-star's sullen rise,