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

  • Full well had Danae been secured, in truth,
  • By oaken portals, and a brazen tower,
  • And savage watch-dogs, from the roving youth
  • That prowl at midnight's hour:
  • But Jove and Venus mock'd with gay disdain
  • The jealous warder of that close stronghold:
  • The way, they knew, must soon be smooth and plain
  • When gods could change to gold.
  • Gold, gold can pass the tyrant's sentinel,
  • Can shiver rocks with more resistless blow
  • Than is the thunder's. Argos' prophet fell,
  • He and his house laid low,
  • And all for gain. The man of Macedon
  • Cleft gates of cities, rival kings o'erthrew
  • By force of gifts: their cunning snares have won
  • Rude captains and their crew.
  • As riches grow, care follows: men repine
  • And thirst for more. No lofty crest I raise:
  • Wisdom that thought forbids, Maecenas mine,
  • The knightly order's praise.