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

  • Now drink we deep, now featly tread
  • A measure; now before each shrine
  • With Salian feasts the table spread;
  • The time invites us, comrades mine.
  • 'Twas shame to broach, before today,
  • The Caecuban, while Egypt's dame
  • Threaten'd our power in dust to lay
  • And wrap the Capitol in flame,
  • Girt with her foul emasculate throng,
  • By Fortune's sweet new wine befool'd,
  • In hope's ungovern'd weakness strong
  • To hope for all; but soon she cool'd,
  • To see one ship from burning 'scape;
  • Great Caesar taught her dizzy brain,
  • Made mad by Mareotic grape,
  • To feel the sobering truth of pain,
  • And gave her chase from Italy,
  • As after doves fierce falcons speed,
  • As hunters 'neath Haemonia's sky
  • Chase the tired hare, so might he lead