Odes

Horace

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

  1. Though he is fairer, milder,
  2. Than starlight, you lighter than bark of tree,
  3. Than stormy Hadria wilder,
  4. With you to live, to die, were bliss for me.
  • Ah Lyce! though your drink were Tanais,
  • Your husband some rude savage, you would weep
  • To leave me shivering, on a night like this,
  • Where storms their watches keep.
  • Hark! how your door is creaking! how the grove
  • In your fair courtyard, while the wild winds blow,
  • Wails in accord! with what transparence Jove
  • Is glazing the driven snow!
  • Cease that proud temper: Venus loves it not:
  • The rope may break, the wheel may backward turn:
  • Begetting you, no Tuscan sire begot
  • Penelope the stern.
  • O, though no gift, no “prevalence of prayer,”
  • Nor lovers' paleness deep as violet,
  • Nor husband, smit with a Pierian fair,
  • Move you, have pity yet!