Odes by Horace

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THE ODES AND CARMEN SAECULARE OF HORACE

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RECTIUS VIVES.


Licinius, trust a seaman's lore:

Steer not too boldly to the deep,

Nor, fearing storms, by treacherous shore

Too closely creep.

Who makes the golden mean his guide,

Shuns miser's cabin, foul and dark,

Shuns
gilded roofs, where pomp and pride Are envy's mark.

With fiercer blasts the pine's dim height

Is rock'd; proud towers with heavier fall

Crash
to the ground; and thunders smite The mountains tall.

In sadness hope, in gladness fear

'Gainst coming change will fortify

Your breast. The storms that Jupiter

Sweeps o'er the sky

He chases. Why should rain to-day

Bring rain to-morrow? Python's foe

Is pleased sometimes his lyre to play,

Nor bends his bow.

Be brave in trouble; meet distress

With dauntless front; but when the gale

Too prosperous blows, be wise no less,

And shorten sail.





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