Odes

Horace

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

What, Albius! why this passionate despair

For cruel Glycera? why melt your voice

In dolorous strains, because the perjured fair

Has made a younger choice?

See, narrow-brow'd Lycoris, how she glows

For Cyrus! Cyrus turns away his head

To Pholoe's frown; but sooner gentle roes

Apulian wolves shall wed,

Than Pholoe to so mean a conqueror strike:

So Venus wills it; 'neath her brazen yoke

She loves to couple forms and minds unlike,

All for a heartless joke.

For me sweet Love had forged a milder spell;

But Myrtale still kept me her fond slave,

More stormy she than the tempestuous swell

That crests Calabria's wave.