Odes

Horace

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

  • A servant now, our ancient foe,
  • The Spaniard, wears at last our chain;
  • The Scythian half unbends his bow
  • And quits the plain.
  • Then fret not lest the state should ail;
  • A private man such thoughts may spare;
  • Enjoy the present hour's regale,
  • And banish care.
    • Horace
    1. While I had power to bless you,
    2. Nor any round that neck his arms did fling
    3. More privileged to caress you,
    4. Happier was Horace than the Persian king.
    Lydia
    1. While you for none were pining
    2. Sorer, nor Lydia after Chloe came,
    3. Lydia, her peers outshining,
    4. Might match her own with Ilia's Roman fame.
    Horace
    1. Now Chloe is my treasure,
    2. Whose voice, whose touch, can make sweet music flow:
    3. For her I'd die with pleasure,
    4. Would Fate but spare the dear survivor so.