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

  • To suffer hardness with good cheer,
  • In sternest school of warfare bred,
  • Our youth should learn; let steed and spear
  • Make him one day the Parthian's dread;
  • Cold skies, keen perils, brace his life.
  • Methinks I see from rampired town
  • Some battling tyrant's matron wife,
  • Some maiden, look in terror down,—
  • “Ah, my dear lord, untrain'd in war!
  • O tempt not the infuriate mood
  • Of that fell lion I see! from far
  • He plunges through a tide of blood!“
  • What joy, for fatherland to die!
  • Death's darts e'en flying feet o'ertake,
  • Nor spare a recreant chivalry,
  • A back that cowers, or loins that quake.
  • True Virtue never knows defeat:
  • Her robes she keeps unsullied still,
  • Nor takes, nor quits, her curule seat
  • To please a people's veering will.