Odes by Horace

Home > Latin Authors and Literature > Horace


Home | Prev | Next | Contents


For ease, in wide Aegean caught,

The sailor prays, when clouds are hiding

moon, nor shines of starlight aught For seaman's guiding:

For ease the Mede, with quiver gay:

For ease rude Thrace, in battle cruel:

purple buy it, Grosphus? Nay, Nor gold, nor jewel.

No pomp, no lictor clears the way 'Mid rabble-routs of troublous feelings,

quells the cares that sport and play Round gilded ceilings.

More happy he whose modest board

His father's well-worn silver brightens;

No fear, nor lust for sordid hoard,

His light sleep frightens.

Why bend our bows of little span?

Why change our homes for regions under

Another sun? What exiled man

From self can sunder?

Care climbs the bark, and trims the sail,

Curst fiend! nor troops of horse can 'scape her,

More swift than stag, more swift than gale

That drives the vapour.

Blest in the present, look not forth

On ills beyond, but soothe each bitter

With slow, calm smile. No suns on earth

Unclouded glitter.

Achilles' light was quench'd at noon;

A long decay Tithonus minish'd;

My hours, it may be, yet will run

When yours are finish'd.

For you Sicilian heifers low,

Bleat countless flocks; for you are neighing

Proud coursers; Afric purples glow

For your arraying

With double dyes; a small domain,

The soul that breathed in Grecian harping,

My portion these; and high disdain

Of ribald carping.

Prev | Next | Contents