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

  • Who fain at Pindar's flight would aim,
  • On waxen wings, Iulus, he
  • Soars heavenward, doom'd to give his name
  • To some new sea.
  • Pindar, like torrent from the steep
  • Which, swollen with rain, its banks o'erflows,
  • With mouth unfathomably deep,
  • Foams, thunders, glows,
  • All worthy of Apollo's bay,
  • Whether in dithyrambic roll
  • Pouring new words he burst away
  • Beyond control,
  • Or gods and god-born heroes tell,
  • Whose arm with righteous death could tame
  • Grim Centaurs, tame Chimaeras fell,
  • Out-breathing flame,
  • Or bid the boxer or the steed
  • In deathless pride of victory live,
  • And dower them with a nobler meed
  • Than sculptors give,