Odes

Horace

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

But why, you ask, this special cheer?

We celebrate the feast of Ides,

Which April's month, to Venus dear,

In twain divides.

O, 'tis a day for reverence,

E'en my own birthday scarce so dear,

For my Maecenas counts from thence

Each added year.

'Tis Telephus that you'd bewitch:

But he is of a high degree;

Bound to a lady fair and rich,

He is not free.

O think of Phaethon half burn'd,

And moderate your passion's greed:

Think how Bellerophon was spurn'd

By his wing'd steed.

So learn to look for partners meet,

Shun lofty things, nor raise your aims

Above your fortune. Come then, sweet,

My last of flames