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

  • You know not you are Jove's own dame:
  • Away with sobbing; be resign'd
  • To greatness: you shall give your name
  • To half mankind.”
  • Neptune's feast-day! what should man
  • Think first of doing? Lyde mine, be bold,
  • Broach the treasured Caecuban,
  • And batter Wisdom in her own stronghold.
  • Now the noon has pass'd the full,
  • Yet sure you deem swift Time has made a halt,
  • Tardy as you are to pull
  • Old Bibulus' wine-jar from its sleepy vault.
  • I will take my turn and sing
  • Neptune and Nereus' train with locks of green;
  • You shall warble to the string
  • Latona and her Cynthia's arrowy sheen.
  • Hers our latest song, who sways
  • Cnidos and Cyclads, and to Paphos goes
  • With her swans, on holydays;
  • Night too shall claim the homage music owes.