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C. Julius Caesar, Commentaries on the Civil War (ed. William Duncan) 56 0 Browse Search
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington) 56 0 Browse Search
Diodorus Siculus, Library 56 0 Browse Search
E. T. Merrill, Commentary on Catullus (ed. E. T. Merrill) 52 0 Browse Search
M. Tullius Cicero, Orations, for Quintius, Sextus Roscius, Quintus Roscius, against Quintus Caecilius, and against Verres (ed. C. D. Yonge) 46 0 Browse Search
M. Tullius Cicero, Orations, for Quintius, Sextus Roscius, Quintus Roscius, against Quintus Caecilius, and against Verres (ed. C. D. Yonge) 44 0 Browse Search
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. John Dryden) 44 0 Browse Search
Epictetus, Works (ed. Thomas Wentworth Higginson) 38 0 Browse Search
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams) 38 0 Browse Search
E. T. Merrill, Commentary on Catullus (ed. E. T. Merrill) 34 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington). You can also browse the collection for Rome (Italy) or search for Rome (Italy) in all documents.

Your search returned 28 results in 18 document sections:

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Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 3, Poem 14 (search)
Our Hercules, they told us, Rome, Had sought the laurel Death bestows: Now Glory brings him conqueror home From Spaniard foes. Proud of her spouse, the imperial fair Must thank the gods that shield from death; His sister too:—let matrons wear The suppliant wreath For daughters and for sons restored: Ye youths and damsels newly wed, Let decent awe restrain each word Best left unsaid. This day, true holyday to me, Shall banish care: I will not fear Rude broils or bloody death to see, While Caesar's here. Quick, boy, the chaplets and the nard, And wine, that knew the Marsian war, If roving Spartacus have spared A single jar. And bid Neaera come and trill, Her bright locks bound with careless art: If her rough porter cross your will, Why then depart. Soon palls the taste for noise and fray, When hair is white and leaves are sere: How had I fired in life's warm May, In Plancus' yea
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 3, Poem 29 (search)
Heir of Tyrrhenian kings, for you A mellow cask, unbroach'd as yet, Maecenas mine, and roses new, And fresh-drawn oil your locks to wet, Are waiting here. Delay not still, Nor gaze on Tibur, never dried, And sloping Aesule, and the hill Of Telegon the parricide. O leave that pomp that can but tire, Those piles, among the clouds at home; Cease for a moment to admire The smoke, the wealth, the noise of Rome! In change e'en luxury finds a zest: The poor man's supper, neat, but spare, With no gay couch to seat the guest, Has smooth'd the rugged brow of care. Now glows the Ethiop maiden's sire; Now Procyon rages all ablaze; The Lion maddens in his ire, As suns bring back the sultry days: The shepherd with his weary sheep Seeks out the streamlet and the trees, Silvanus' lair: the still banks sleep Untroubled by the wandering breeze. You ponder on imperial schemes, And o'er the city's danger brood: Bactrian and Serian haunt your dreams, And Tanais, toss'd by inward feud. The issue of the ti
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 2 (search)
ilsome hours, Am roaming Tibur's banks along, And fashioning with puny powers A laboured song. Your Muse shall sing in loftier strain How Caesar climbs the sacred height, The fierce Sygambrians in his train, With laurel dight, Than whom the Fates ne'er gave mankind A richer treasure or more dear, Nor shall, though earth again should find The golden year. Your Muse shall tell of public sports, And holyday, and votive feast, For Caesar's sake, and brawling courts Where strife has ceased. Then, if my voice can aught avail, Grateful for him our prayers have won, My song shall echo, “Hail, all hail, Auspicious Sun!” There as you move, “Ho! Triumph, ho! Great Triumph!” once and yet again All Rome shall cry, and spices strow Before your train. Ten bulls, ten kine, your debt discharge: A calf new-wean'd from parent cow, Battening on pastures rich and large, Shall quit my vow. Like moon just dawning on the night The crescent honours of his head; One dapple spot of snowy white, The rest
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 3 (search)
He whom thou, Melpomene, Hast welcomed with thy smile, in life arriving, Ne'er by boxer's skill shall be Renown'd abroad, for Isthmian mastery striving; Him shall never fiery steed Draw in Achaean car a conqueror seated; Him shall never martial deed Show, crown'd with bay, after proud kings defeated, Climbing Capitolian steep: But the cool streams that make green Tibur flourish, And the tangled forest deep, On soft Aeolian airs his fame shall nourish. Rome, of cities first and best, Deigns by her sons' according voice to hail me Fellow-bard of poets blest, And faint and fainter envy's growls assail me. Goddess, whose Pierian art The lyre's sweet sounds can modulate and measure, Who to dumb fish canst impart The music of the swan, if such thy pleasure: O, 'tis all of thy dear grace That every finger points me out in going Lyrist of the Roman race; Breath, power to charm, if mine, are thy bestowing!
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 4 (search)
our erst victorious foe What prowess dwells in boyish hearts Rear'd in the shrine of a pure home, What strength Augustus' love imparts To Nero's seed, the hope of Rome. Good sons and brave good sires approve: Strong bullocks, fiery colts, attest Their fathers' worth, nor weakling dove Is hatch'd in savage eagle's nest. But care der within, And cultured minds are strong for good: Let manners fail, the plague of sin Taints e'en the course of gentle blood. How great thy debt to Nero's race, O Rome, let red Metaurus say, Slain Hasdrubal, and victory's grace First granted on that glorious day Which chased the clouds, and show'd the sun, When Hannibal o'er Italy Ran, as swift flames o'er pine-woods run, Or Eurus o'er Sicilia's sea. Henceforth, by fortune aiding toil, Rome's prowess grew: her fanes, laid waste By Punic sacrilege and spoil, Beheld at length their gods replaced. Then the false Libyan own'd his doom:— “Weak deer, the wolves' predestined prey, Blindly we rush on foes, from w
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 5 (search)
Best guardian of Rome's people, dearest boon Of a kind Heaven, thou lingerest all too long: Thou bad'st thy senate look to meet thee soon: Do not thy promise wrong. Restore, dear chief, the light thou tak'st away: Ah! when, like spring, that gracious mien of thine Dawns on thy Rome, more gently glides the day, And suns serener shRome, more gently glides the day, And suns serener shine. See her whose darling child a long year past Has dwelt beyond the wild Carpathian foam; That long year o'er, the envious southern blast Still bars him from his home: Weeping and praying to the shore she clings, Nor ever thence her straining eyesight turns: So, smit by loyal passion's restless stings, Rome for her Caesar yearnRome for her Caesar yearns. In safety range the cattle o'er the mead: Sweet Peace, soft Plenty, swell the golden grain: O'er unvex'd seas the sailors blithely speed: Fair Honour shrinks from stain: No guilty lusts the shrine of home defile: Cleansed is the hand without, the heart within: The father's features in his children smile Swift vengeance follows
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 14 (search)
What honours can a grateful Rome, A grateful senate, Caesar, give To make thy worth through days to come Emblazon'd on our records live, Mightiest of chieftains whomsoe'er The sun beholds from heaven on high? They know thee now, thy strength in war, Those unsubdued Vindelici. Thine was the sword that Drusus drew, When on the Breunian hordes he fell, And storm'd the fierce Genaunian crew E'en in their Alpine citadel, And paid them back their debt twice told 'Twas then the elder Nero came To confustres gone, Another victory to thine hand Was given; another field was won By grace of Caesar's high command. Thee Spanish tribes, unused to yield, Mede, Indian, Scyth that knows no home, Acknowledge, sword at once and shield Of Italy and queenly Rome. Ister to thee, and Tanais fleet, And Nile that will not tell his birth, To thee the monstrous seas that beat On Britain's coast, the end of earth, To thee the proud Iberians bow, And Gauls, that scorn from death to flee; The fierce Sygambrian ben
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 15 (search)
Of battles fought I fain had told, And conquer'd towns, when Phoebus smote His harp-string: “Sooth, 'twere over-bold. To tempt wide seas in that frail boat.” Thy age, great Caesar, has restored To squalid fields the plenteous grain, Given back to Rome's almighty Lord Our standards, torn from Parthian fane, Has closed Quirinian Janus' gate, Wild passion's erring walk controll'd, Heal'd the foul plague-spot of the state, And brought again the life of old, Life, by whose healthful power increased The glorious name of Latium spread To where the sun illumes the east From where he seeks his western bed. While Caesar rules, no civil strife Shall break our rest, nor violence rude, Nor rage, that whets the slaughtering knife And plunges wretched towns in feud. The sons of Danube shall not scorn The Julian edicts; no, nor they By Tanais' distant river horn, Nor Persia, Scythia, or Cathay. And we on feast and working-tide, While Bacchus' bounties freely flow, Our wives and children at our side,
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