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The Works of Horace In English Verse

By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical
Duncombe, John (1729-1786)
  
[epigraph]

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VOLUME the FIRST.
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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
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THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
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THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
  
[dedication]
  
Prologue.
 I. 
ODE I.
  
The Same Ode Imitated.
 II. 
ODE II. To his Friends.
 III. 
ODE III.
  
The Same Ode Imitated.
 IV. 
ODE IV. To Calliope.
 V. 
ODE V.
 VI. 
ODE VI. To the Roman People.
  
The Same Ode Imitated.
 VII. 
ODE VII. To Asterie.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII. To Mæcenas.
 IX. 
ODE IX. A Dialogue between Horace and Lydia.
  
The Same Ode Imitated.
 X. 
ODE X. To Lycé.
 XI. 
ODE XI. To Mercury.
 XII. 
ODE XII. To Neobule.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII. To the Nymph presiding over the Blandusian Fountain.
  
The Same Ode Imitated.
 XIV. 
ODE XIV. On the Return of Augustus from Spain.
 XV. 
ODE XV. To Chloris.
 XVI. 
ODE XVI. To Mæcenas,
  
The Same Ode Imitated.
 XVII. 
ODE XVII. To Ælius Lamia.
 XVIII. 
ODE XVIII. To Faunus.
 XIX. 
ODE XIX. To Telephus.
 XX. 
ODE XX. To Pyrrhus.
 XXI. 
ODE XXI. To his Cask.
 XXII. 
ODE XXII. To Diana.
 XXIII. 
ODE XXIII. To Phidylé.
 XXIV. 
ODE XXIV.
 XXV. 
ODE XXV. To Bacchus.
  
The Same Ode Paraphrased.
 XXVI. 
ODE XXVI. To Venus.
 XXVII. 
ODE XXVII. To Galatea,
 XXVIII. 
ODE XXVIII. To Lydé.
 XXIX. 
ODE XXIX. To Mæcenas.
 XXX. 
ODE XXX.
  
The Same Ode Imitated.
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THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
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VOLUME the SECOND and LAST.

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152

ODE IV. To Xanthias Phoceus.

Blush not, my Friend, to own the Fire,
Which your fair Handmaid's Eyes inspire:
Briseïs' Charms of old could move
Achilles' haughty Soul to Love?
His beauteous Slave, Tecmessa, won
The Heart of Ajax Telamon.
With Love, renown'd Atrides glow'd,
While Tears from sad Cassandra flow'd,
O'er ruin'd Troy; when now the Plain
Was heap'd with Troops of Phrygians slain,
And Hector, snatch'd by Fate away,
Had made it fall an easier Prey.
Believe me, to an ancient Line,
A Bride, like her, your Blood may join;
And thence her generous Sorrows flow,
So high her Birth, her Fall so low.
153

She, who still faithful can remain,
And unsubdu'd by sordid Gain,
Must from no vulgar Race descend,
But such as will Your Choice commend,
Her taper Legs, her Face and Arms,
For Me untouch'd, have now no Charms;
For think remov'd, by forty Years,
Both all my Flames, and all your Fears.
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