Odes Horace Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882. Amid her ruin'd halls she stoodUnblench'd, and fearless to the endGrasp'd the fell snakes, that all her bloodMight with the cold black venom blend,Death's purpose flushing in her face;Nor to our ships the glory gave,That she, no vulgar dame, should graceA triumph, crownless, and a slave.