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

  • How near dark Pluto's court I stood,
  • And Aeacus' judicial throne,
  • The blest seclusion of the good,
  • And Sappho, with sweet lyric moan
  • Bewailing her ungentle sex,
  • And thee, Alcaeus, louder far
  • Chanting thy tale of woful wrecks,
  • Of woful exile, woful war!
  • In sacred awe the silent dead
  • Attend on each: but when the song
  • Of combat tells and tyrants fled,
  • Keen ears, press'd shoulders, closer throng.
  • What marvel, when at those sweet airs
  • The hundred-headed beast spell-bound
  • Each black ear droops, and Furies' hairs
  • Uncoil their serpents at the sound?
  • Prometheus too and Pelops' sire
  • In listening lose the sense of woe;
  • Orion hearkens to the lyre,
  • And lets the lynx and lion go.