Odes

Horace

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

This pine that shades my cot be thine;

Here will I slay, as years come round,

A youngling boar, whose tusks design

The side-long wound.

If, Phidyle, your hands you lift

To heaven, as each new moon is born,

Soothing your Lares with the gift

Of slaughter'd swine, and spice, and corn,

Ne'er shall Scirocco's bane assail

Your vines, nor mildew blast your wheat.

Ne'er shall your tender younglings fail

In autumn, when the fruits are sweet.