Odes by Horace

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Thou who didst make thy vengeful might

To Niobe and Tityos known,

And Peleus' son, when Troy's tall height

Was nigh his own,

Victorious else, for thee no peer,

Though, strong in his sea-parent's power,

He shook with that tremendous spear

The Dardan tower.

He, like a pine by axes sped,

Or cypress sway'd by angry gust,

Fell ruining, and laid his head

In Trojan dust.

Not his to lie in covert pent

Of the false steed, and sudden fall

On Priam's ill-starr'd merriment

In bower and hall:

His ruthless arm in broad bare day

The infant from the breast had torn,

Nay, given to flame, ah, well a way!

The babe unborn:

But, won by Venus' voice and thine,

Relenting Jove Aeneas will'd

With other omens more benign

New walls to build.

Sweet tuner of the Grecian lyre,

Whose locks are laved in Xanthus' dews,

Blooming Agyieus! help, inspire

My Daunian Muse!

'Tis Phoebus, Phoebus gifts my tongue

With minstrel art and minstrel fires:

noble youths and maidens sprung From noble sires,

Blest in your Dian's guardian smile,

Whose shafts the flying silvans stay,

foot the Lesbian measure, while The lyre I play:

Sing of Latona's glorious boy,

Sing of night's queen with crescent horn,

Who wings the fleeting months with joy,

And swells the corn.

And happy brides shall say, "'Twas mine,

When years the cyclic season brought,

To chant the festal hymn divine

By HORACE taught."

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