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

  • Heir of Tyrrhenian kings, for you
  • A mellow cask, unbroach'd as yet,
  • Maecenas mine, and roses new,
  • And fresh-drawn oil your locks to wet,
  • Are waiting here. Delay not still,
  • Nor gaze on Tibur, never dried,
  • And sloping Aesule, and the hill
  • Of Telegon the parricide.
  • O leave that pomp that can but tire,
  • Those piles, among the clouds at home;
  • Cease for a moment to admire
  • The smoke, the wealth, the noise of Rome!
  • In change e'en luxury finds a zest:
  • The poor man's supper, neat, but spare,
  • With no gay couch to seat the guest,
  • Has smooth'd the rugged brow of care.
  • Now glows the Ethiop maiden's sire;
  • Now Procyon rages all ablaze;
  • The Lion maddens in his ire,
  • As suns bring back the sultry days: