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

  • Our planets sure with concord strange
  • Are blended. You by Jove's blest power
  • Were snatch'd from out the baleful range
  • Of Saturn, and the evil hour
  • Was stay'd, when rapturous benches full
  • Three times the auspicious thunder peal'd;
  • Me the curst trunk, that smote my skull,
  • Had slain; but Faunus, strong to shield
  • The friends of Mercury, check'd the blow
  • In mid descent. Be sure to pay
  • The victims and the fane you owe;
  • Your bard a humbler lamb will slay.
  • Carven ivory have I none
  • No golden cornice in my dwelling shines;
  • Pillars choice of Libyan stone
  • Upbear no architrave from Attic mines;
  • 'Twas not mine to enter in
  • To Attalus' broad realms, an unknown heir,
  • Nor for me fair clients spin
  • Laconian purples for their patron's wear.