Odes

Horace

Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor

  • And happy brides shall say, “'Twas mine,
  • When years the cyclic season brought,
  • To chant the festal hymn divine
  • By Horace taught.”
  • The snow is fled: the trees their leaves put on,
  • The fields their green:
  • Earth owns the change, and rivers lessening run
  • Their banks between.
  • Naked the Nymphs and Graces in the meads
  • The dance essay:
  • “No 'scaping death” proclaims the year, that speeds
  • This sweet spring day.
  • Frosts yield to zephyrs; Summer drives out Spring,
  • To vanish, when
  • Rich Autumn sheds his fruits; round wheels the ring,—
  • Winter again!
  • Yet the swift moons repair Heaven's detriment:
  • We, soon as thrust
  • Where good Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus went,
  • What are we? dust.