Odes by Horace

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THE ODES AND CARMEN SAECULARE OF HORACE

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NULLUS ARGENTO.


The silver, Sallust, shows not fair

While buried in the greedy mine:

You love it not till moderate wear

Have given it shine.

Honour to Proculeius! he

To brethren play'd a father's part;

Fame shall embalm through years to be

That noble heart.

Who curbs a greedy soul may boast

More power than if his broad-based throne

Bridged Libya's sea, and either coast

Were all his own.

Indulgence bids the dropsy grow;

Who fain would quench the palate's flame

Must rescue from the watery foe

The pale weak frame.

Phraates, throned where Cyrus sate,

May count for blest with vulgar herds,

But not with Virtue; soon or late

From lying words

She weans men's lips; for him she keeps

The crown, the purple, and the bays,

Who dares to look on treasure-heaps

With unblench'd gaze.





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