Odes

Horace

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

  • O born in Manlius' year with me,
  • Whate'er you bring us, plaint or jest,
  • Or passion and wild revelry,
  • Or, like a gentle wine-jar, rest;
  • Howe'er men call your Massic juice,
  • Its broaching claims a festal day;
  • Come then; Corvinus bids produce
  • A mellower wine, and I obey.
  • Though steep'd in all Socratic lore
  • He will not slight you; do not fear.
  • They say old Cato o'er and o'er
  • With wine his honest heart would cheer.
  • Tough wits to your mild torture yield
  • Their treasures; you unlock the soul
  • Of wisdom and its stores conceal'd,
  • Arm'd with Lyaeus' kind control.
  • 'Tis yours the drooping heart to heal;
  • Your strength uplifts the poor man's horn;
  • Inspired by you, the soldier's steel,
  • The monarch's crown, he laughs to scorn,