Odes by Horace

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THE ODES AND CARMEN SAECULARE OF HORACE

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ICCI, BEATIS.


Your heart on Arab wealth is set,

Good Iccius: you would try your steel

On Saba's kings, unconquer'd yet,

And make the Mede your fetters feel.

Come, tell me what barbarian fair

Will serve you now, her bridegroom slain?

What page from court with essenced hair

Will tender you the bowl you drain,

Well skill'd to bend the Serian bow

His father carried? Who shall say

That rivers may not uphill flow,

And Tiber's self return one day,

If you would change Panaetius' works,

That costly purchase, and the clan

Of Socrates, for shields and dirks,

Whom once we thought a saner man?





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