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

  • Let others Rhodes or Mytilene sing,
  • Or Ephesus, or Corinth, set between
  • Two seas, or Thebes, or Delphi, for its king
  • Each famous, or Thessalian Tempe green;
  • There are who make chaste Pallas' virgin tower
  • The daily burden of unending song,
  • And search for wreaths the olive's rifled bower:
  • The praise of Juno sounds from many a tongue,
  • Telling of Argos' steeds, Mycenae's gold.
  • For me stern Sparta forges no such spell,
  • No, nor Larissa's plain of richest mould,
  • As bright Albunea echoing from her cell.
  • O headlong Anio! O Tiburnian groves,
  • And orchards saturate with shifting streams!
  • Look how the clear fresh south from heaven removes
  • The tempest, nor with rain perpetual teems!
  • You too be wise, my Plancus: life's worst cloud
  • Will melt in air, by mellow wine allay'd,
  • Dwell you in camps, with glittering banners proud,
  • Or 'neath your Tibur's canopy of shade.