Odes

Horace

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

Be brave in trouble; meet distress

With dauntless front; but when the gale

Too prosperous blows, be wise no less,

And shorten sail.

O ask not what those sons of war,

Cantabrian, Scythian, each intend,

Disjoin'd from us by Hadria's bar,

Nor puzzle, Quintius, how to spend

A life so simple. Youth removes,

And Beauty too; and hoar Decay

Drives out the wanton tribe of Loves

And Sleep, that came or night or day.

The sweet spring-flowers not always keep

Their bloom, nor moonlight shines the same

Each evening. Why with thoughts too deep

O'ertask a mind of mortal frame?

Why not, just thrown at careless ease

'Neath plane or pine, our locks of grey

Perfumed with Syrian essences

And wreathed with roses, while we may,