Odes

Horace

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

Hurrying, for an heir so base,

To gather riches. Money, root of ill,

Doubt it not, still grows apace:

Yet the scant heap has somewhat lacking still.

Whither, Bacchus, tear'st thou me.

FiIl'd with thy strength? What dens, what forests these,

Thus in wildering race I see?

What cave shall hearken to my melodies,

Tuned to tell of Caesar's praise

And throne him high the heavenly ranks among?

Sweet and strange shall be my lays,

A tale till now by poet voice unsung.