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

  • Though your buried wealth surpass
  • The unsunn'd gold of Ind or Araby,
  • Though with many a ponderous mass
  • You crowd the Tuscan and Apulian sea,
  • Let Necessity but drive
  • Her wedge of adamant into that proud head,
  • Vainly battling will you strive
  • To 'scape Death's noose, or rid your soul of dread.
  • Better life the Scythians lead,
  • Trailing on waggon wheels their wandering home,
  • Or the hardy Getan breed,
  • As o'er their vast unmeasured steppes they roam;
  • Free the crops that bless their soil;
  • Their tillage wearies after one year's space;
  • Each in turn fulfils his toil;
  • His period o'er, another takes his place.
  • There the step-dame keeps her hand
  • From guilty plots, from blood of orphans clean;
  • There no downed wives command
  • Their feeble lords, or on adulterers lean.