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

  • Care climbs the bark, and trims the sail,
  • Curst fiend! nor troops of horse can 'scape her,
  • More swift than stag, more swift than gale
  • That drives the vapour.
  • Blest in the present, look not forth
  • On ills beyond, but soothe each bitter
  • With slow, calm smile. No suns on earth
  • Unclouded glitter.
  • Achilles' light was quench'd at noon;
  • A long decay Tithonus minish'd;
  • My hours, it may be, yet will run
  • When yours are flnish'd.
  • For you Sicilian heifers low,
  • Bleat countless flocks; for you are neighing
  • Proud coursers; Afric purples glow
  • For your arraying
  • With double dyes; a small domain,
  • The soul that breathed in Grecian harping,
  • My portion these; and high disdain
  • Of ribald carping.