To Maecenas. III-29 (From The Odes Of Horace)

    Mæcenas, scion of Tyrrhenian rulers,
        A jar, as yet unpierced, of mellow wine
    Long waits thee here, with balm for thee made ready
        And blooming roses in thy locks to twine.

    No more delay, nor always look with favor
        The sloping fields of Æsula upon;
    Why gaze so long on ever marshy Tibur
        Near by the mount of murderer Telegon?

    Give up thy luxury - it palls upon thee -
        Thy tower that reaches yonder lofty cloud;
    Cease to admire the smoke, the wealth, the uproar,
        And all that well hath made our Rome so proud.

    Sometimes a change is grateful to the rich man,
        A simple meal beneath a humble roof
    Has often smoothed from care the furrowed forehead,
        Though unadorned that home with purple woof.

    Bright Cepheus now his long-hid fire is showing,
        Now flames on high the angry lion-star,
    Now Procyon rages, and the sun revolving
        Brings back the thirsty season from afar.

    Seeking a cooling stream, the weary shepherd
        His languid flock leads to the shady wood
    Where rough Sylvanus reigns, yet by the brookside.
        No truant breeze disturbs the solitude.

    Ah, who but thee is busy now with statecraft?
        Thou plannest for Rome's weal, disquieted,
    Lest warring Scythian, Bactrian, or Persian
        Should'st plunge the city into awful dread.

    A prudent deity in pitchy darkness
        The issue of futurity conceals,
    And smiles when man beyond the right of mortals,
        His fear about the time to come reveals.

    Thou should'st concern thee only with the present,
        All else progresses as the river flows,
    Which gliding at one time in middle channel
        Toward the Tuscan Sea unruffled goes;

    Or at another time, herds, trees, and houses,
        And broken rocks to one destruction drags,
    When wild the flood provokes the quiet current
        With noise from neighboring woods and distant crags.

    Happy he lives, and of himself is master,
        That man who can at night with truth declare,
    "I have lived to-day, to-morrow let the Father
        Make as he will my sky or dark or fair,

    "It is not his to render vain and worthless
        My happy past - the bliss has dearer grown
    That the fleet-footed hour carried with it;
        The joys that once have been are still my own.

    "Now upon me, again on others smiling,
        Fortune rejoices in her savage trade
    Of shifting thus at will uncertain honors,
        As stubbornly her mocking game is played.

    "I praise her when she stays, but if she leave me,
        Fluttering her airy wings in hasty flight,
    I yield her what she gave, and wrapped in virtue,
        In dowerless Poverty find my delight.

    "Although the mast may crack beneath the South wind,
        I will not rush with many a doleful prayer
    To barter thus my vows, lest all my treasure
        From Tyre and Cyprus should become a share

    "Of what the greedy sea has in possession;
        Nay! then, protected in my two-oared boat,
    With favoring winds, and with twin Pollux guiding
        Safe through the Ægean tempests I will float."

        (This version won, in 1890, the Sargent Prize, offered annually to students of Harvard University and Radcliffe College.)

Helen Leah Reed

Helen Leah Reed (1860-1926) was an American author and poet, renowned for her contributions to children's literature and her historical novels. She was an influential literary figure of her time, often remembered for her stories that blended education with entertainment. Reed's works reflected her deep knowledge and interest in history, making her a notable figure in early 20th-century American literature.

Helen Leah Reed

A Palinode. I-16 (From The Odes Of Horace)

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

If Love Were All

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

The Grand Army Passes

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

Self-Satisfied

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

English

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To Censorinus. IV-8 (From The Odes Of Horace)

    With kindly thought I'd give, Oh Censorinus,
        Bowls and bronze vases pleasing to each friend;
    Tripods I'd offer, prizes of brave Grecians,
        And not the worst of gifts to you I'd send
    Were I, forsooth, rich in such artist's treasure
        As Scopas and Parrhasius could convey,
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        Skilled here a man, - a god there to portray.
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        Or your affairs need luxuries so choice.
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        Songs we can give, and you in songs rejoice.
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Odes From Horace. - To Mæcenas. Book The First, Ode The First.

I.

Mæcenas, from Etrurian Princes sprung,
    For whom my golden lyre I strung,
Friend, Patron, Guardian of its rising song,
    O mark the Youth, that towers along,
    With triumph in his air;
    Proud of Olympic dust, that soils
    His burning cheek and tangled hair!
Mark how he spreads the palm, that crown'd his toils!
    Each look the throbbing hope reveals
    That his fleet steeds and kindling wheels,
Swept round the skilfully-avoided goal,
Shall with illustrious Chiefs his echo'd name enrol.


II.

    Who the civic crown obtains,
    Or bears into his granaries large
The plenteous tribute of the Libyan Plains;
Or he, who watches still a rural charge,
    O'er his own fields directs the plough,
    Sees his own fr...

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To Mæcenas

Mæcenas, thou of royalty's descent,
Both my protector and dear ornament,
Among humanity's conditions are
Those who take pleasure in the flying car,
Whirling Olympian dust, as on they roll,
And shunning with the glowing wheel the goal;
While the ennobling palm, the prize of worth,
Exalts them to the gods, the lords of earth.

Here one is happy if the fickle crowd
His name the threefold honor has allowed;
And there another, if into his stores
Comes what is swept from Libyan threshing-floors.
He who delights to till his father's lands,
And grasps the delving-hoe with willing hands,
Can never to Attalic offers hark,
Or cut the Myrtoan Sea with Cyprian bark.
The merchant, timorous of Afric's breeze,
When fiercely struggling with Icarian seas
Praises ...

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Odes From Horace. - To [1]Munatius Plancus. Book The First, Ode The Seventh.

Be far-fam'd [2]RHODES the theme of loftier strains,
Or [3]MITYLENE, as their Bard decrees;
Or EPHESUS, where great DIANA reigns,
Or CORINTH, towering 'twixt the rival seas;
Or THEBES, illustrious in thy birth divine,
Purpureal BACCHUS; - or of PHOEBUS' shrine
DELPHOS oracular; or warbling hail
Thessalian TEMPE's flower-embroider'd vale.

The Art-crown'd City, chaste MINERVA's pride,
There are, whose endless numbers have pourtray'd;
They, to each tree that spreads its branches wide,
Prefer the [4]tawny Olive's scanty shade.
Many, in JUNO's honor, sing thy meads,
Green ARGOS, glorying in thy agile steeds;
Or opulent MYCENE, whose proud fanes
The blood of murder'd AGAMEMNON stains.

Nor patient LACEDÆMON wakes my lyre,
Who trains her Sons to all t...

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Elegy I To Charles Diodati.1

At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come,
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They come, at length, from Deva's² Western side,
Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide.³
Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be,
Though born of foreign race, yet born for me,
And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam,
Must seek again so soon his wonted home.
I well content, where Thames with refluent tide
My native city laves, meantime reside,
Nor zeal nor duty, now, my steps impell
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Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I,
That, to the musing bard, all shade deny.
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To Melpomene. IV-3 (From The Odes Of Horace)

    Oh, him whom at birth you with favor regarded
        Melpomene! never an Isthmian game
    Shall render renowned, though he's skilled as a boxer,
        Nor shall a swift horse lead him onward to fame.
    Though a victor he rides in a chariot Achaian,
        Not him shall the fortune of war ever show.
    In the Capitol wearing the garland of laurel
        Because the proud threatenings of kings he laid low.
    But every stream flowing over the country
        Fertile Tibur around, and so every grove
    With its thick-growing leaves shall ennoble the poet,
        In Æolian song he ennobled shall prove.
    The offspring of Rome, that is Queen among cities,
        Me have deemed as a bard to be worthy a place
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