Odes by Horace

Home > Latin Authors and Literature > Horace

THE ODES AND CARMEN SAECULARE OF HORACE

Home | Prev | Next | Contents


QUID BELLICOSUS.


O, Ask not what those sons of war,

Cantabrian, Scythian, each intend,

Disjoin'd from us by Hadria's bar,

Nor puzzle, Quintius, how to spend

A
life so simple. Youth removes, And Beauty too; and hoar Decay

Drives out the wanton tribe of Loves

And Sleep, that came or night or day.

The sweet spring-flowers not always keep

Their bloom, nor moonlight shines the same

Each evening. Why with thoughts too deep

O'ertask a mind of mortal frame?

Why not, just thrown at careless ease

'Neath plane or pine, our locks of grey

Perfumed with Syrian essences

And wreathed with roses, while we may,

Lie drinking? Bacchus puts to shame

The cares that waste us. Where's the slave

To quench the fierce Falernian's flame

With water from the passing wave?

Who'll coax coy Lyde from her home?

Go, bid her take her ivory lyre,

The runaway, and haste to come,

Her wild hair bound with Spartan tire.





Prev | Next | Contents