Odes

Horace

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

A tiny box of nard shall bring to light

The cask that in Sulpician cellar lies:

O, it can give new hopes, so fresh and bright,

And gladden gloomy eyes.

You take the bait? then come without delay

And bring your ware: be sure, 'tis not my plan

To let you drain my liquor and not pay,

As might some wealthy man.

Come, quit those covetous thoughts, those knitted brows,

Think on the last black embers, while you may,

And be for once unwise. When time allows,

'Tis sweet the fool to play.

The gods have heard, the gods have heard my prayer;

Yes, Lyce! you are growing old, and still

You struggle to look fair;

You drink, and dance, and trill

Your songs to youthful Love, in accents weak

With wine, and age, and passion. Youthful Love!

He dwells in Chia's cheek,

And hears her harp-strings move.