The Odes and Carmen sęculare of Horace, tr. into Engl. verse by J. Conington (Google eBook)

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1863
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Page xxvi - I sit and abide for long hours, till thy whole vast Round grows dim as in dreams to my eyes, I repeople thy niches, Not with the Martyrs, and Saints, and Confessors, and Virgins, and children, But with the mightier forms of an older, austerer worship; And I recite to myself, how...
Page 25 - No need of Moorish archer's craft To guard the pure and stainless liver; He wants not, Fuscus, poison'd shaft To store his quiver, Whether he traverse Libyan shoals, Or Caucasus, forlorn and horrent, Or lands where far Hydaspes rolls His fabled torrent. A wolf, while roaming trouble-free In Sabine wood, as fancy led me, Unarm'd I sang my Lalage, Beheld, and fled me. Dire monster! in her broad oak woods Fierce Daunia fosters none such other, Nor Juba's land, of lion broods The thirsty mother.
Page 14 - ... men unerring guides, Who rules the sea, the earth, the sky, Their times and tides. No mightier birth may He beget ; No like, no second has He known ; Yet nearest to her sire's is set Minerva's throne. Nor yet shall Bacchus pass unsaid, Bold warrior, nor the virgin foe Of savage beasts, nor Phoebus, dread With deadly bow. Alcides too shall be my theme, And Leda's twins, for horses he, He famed for boxing ; soon as gleam Their stars at sea, The lash'd spray trickles from the steep, The wind sinks...
Page 83 - Bandusia's fount, in clearness crystalline, O worthy of the wine, the flowers we vow ! To-morrow shall be thine A kid, whose crescent brow " Is sprouting, all for love and victory, In vain ; his warm red blood, so early stirred, Thy gelid stream shall dye, Child of the wanton herd. " Thee the fierce Sirian star, to madness fired, Forbears to touch ; sweet cool thy waters yield To ox with ploughing tired, And flocks that range afield.
Page 13 - ASK not ('tis forbidden knowledge), what our destined term of years, Mine and yours ; nor scan the tables of your Babylonish seers. Better far to bear the future, my Leuconoe, like the past...
Page 102 - tis done : more durable than brass My monument shall be, and raise its head O'er royal pyramids : it shall not dread Corroding rain or angry Boreas, Nor the long lapse of immemorial time. I shall not wholly die : large residue Shall 'scape the queen of funerals. Ever new My after-fame shall grow, while pontifl's climb With silent maids the Capitolian height.
Page 64 - Arcturus' angry fall, Nor fears the Kid-star's sullen rise, Though hail-storms on the vineyard beat, Though crops deceive, though trees complain. One while of showers, one while of heat, One while of winter's barbarous reign. Fish feel the narrowing of the main From sunken piles, while on the strand Contractors with their busy train Let down huge stones, and lords of land Affect the sea: but fierce Alarm Can clamber to the master's side: Black Cares can up the galley swarm, And close behind the horseman...
Page 6 - The touch of Zephyr and of Spring has loosen'd Winter's thrall ; The well-dried keels are wheel'd again to sea : The ploughman cares not for his fire, nor cattle for their stall, And frost no more is whitening all the lea — Now Cytherea leads the dance, the bright moon overhead ; The Graces and the Nymphs, together knit, With rhythmic feet the meadow beat, while Vulcan, fiery red, Heats the Cyclopian forge in ^Etna's pit.
Page 96 - FOR ladies's love I late was fit, And good success my warfare blest, But now my arms, my lyre I quit, And hang them up to rust or rest. Here, where arising from the sea Stands Venus, lay the load at last, Links, crowbars, and artillery, Threatening all doors that dared be fast. O Goddess ! Cyprus owns thy sway, And Memphis, far from Thracian snow : Raise high thy lash, and deal me, pray, That haughty Chloe just one blow ! XXVII.
Page 39 - Grasp'd the fell snakes, that all her blood Might with the cold black venom blend, Death's purpose flushing in her face ; Nor to our ships the glory gave, That she, no vulgar dame, should grace A triumph, crownless, and a slave. XXXVIII. Persicos odi. NO Persian cumber, boy, for me; I hate your garlands linden-plaited; Leave winter's rose where on the tree It hangs belated.

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