Odes Horace Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882. So to the bull Europa gaveHer beauteous form, and when she sawThe monstrous deep, the yawning grave,Grew pale with awe.That morn of meadow-flowers she thought,Weaving a crown the nymphs to please:That gloomy night she look'd on noughtBut stars and seas.Then, as in hundred-citied Crete She landed,—“O my sire!” she said,“O childly duty! passion's heatHas struck thee dead.