Odes

Horace

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

  • O, were that monster made my prize,
  • How would I strive to wound that brow,
  • How tear those horns, my frantic eyes
  • Adored but now!
  • Shameless I left my father's home;
  • Shameless I cheat the expectant grave;
  • O heaven, that naked I might roam
  • In lions' cave!
  • Now, ere decay my bloom devour
  • Or thin the richness of my blood,
  • Fain would I fall in youth's first flower,
  • The tigers' food.
  • Hark! 'tis my father—‘Worthless one!
  • What, yet alive? the oak is nigh.
  • 'Twas well you kept your maiden zone,
  • The noose to tie.