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The Odes and Epodon of Horace, In Five Books

Translated into English by J. H. [i.e. John Harington]
(1627?-1700)

collapse section1. 
First Book.
 1. 
To MÆCENAS. Ode I.
 2. 
To AUGUSTUS. Ode 2.
 III. 
Ode III.
 IV. 
To L. SEXTIUS. Ode IV.
 5. 
To PYRRHA. Ode 5.
 VI. 
To AGRIPPA. Ode VI.
 7. 
To MUNATIUS PLANCUS. Ode 7.
 8. 
To LYDIA. Ode 8.
 IX. 
To THALIARCHUS. Ode IX.
 X. 
To MERCURY. Ode X.
 XI. 
To LEUCONOE. Ode XI.
 XII. 
To AUGUSTUS. Ode XII.
 XIII. 
To LYDIA. Ode XIII.
 XIV. 
To the Roman State, then renewing Civil Wars again. Ode. XIV.
 XV. 
NEREUS his Prophesie of the ruine of Troy. Ode XV.
 XVI. 
To his Love. Ode XVI.
 XVII. 
To TYNDARIS. Ode XVII.
 18. 
To VARIUS. Ode 18.
 XIX. 
To GLICERA. Ode XIX.
 XX. 
To MÆCENAS. Ode XX.
 XXI. 
Upon DIANA and APOLLO. Ode XXI.
 XXII. 
To ARISTIUS. Ode XXII.
 XXIII. 
To CHLOE. Ode XXIII.
 XXIV. 
To VIRGIL. Ode XXIV.
 XXV. 
To LYDIA. Ode XXV.
 XXVI. 
To his Muse, touching ÆLIUS LAMIUS. Ode XXVI.
 XXVII. 
To his Companions, That they should not quarrel in their Cups, barbarous fashion. Ode XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
Ode XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
To ACCIUS. Ode XXIX.
 XXX. 
To VENUS. Ode XXX.
 XXXI. 
To APOLLO. Ode XXXI.
 XXXII. 
To his Harp. Ode XXXII.
 XXXIII. 
To ALBIUS TIBULLUS. Ode XXXIII.
 XXXIV. 
To Himself. Ode XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
To FORTUNE. Ode XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
To POMPONIUS NUMIDAS. Ode XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
To His COMPANIONS. Ode XXXVII.
 XXXVIII. 
To His SERVANT. Ode XXXVIII.
expand sectionII. 
HORACE HIS SECOND BOOK OF ODES.
expand sectionIII. 
HORACE HIS THIRD BOOK OF ODES.
expand section 
HORACE HIS FOURTH BOOK OF ODES.
expand section 
HORACE HIS BOOK EPODON.

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To LYDIA. Ode 8.

He observes the Youth Sybaris as ruin'd through her Love, and melted quite through Pleasures.

Speak LYDIA, by all
The Gods, why seek'st thou SYBARIS Downfal,
Ruin'd through Love? MARS-field
Why loaths he still? 'gainst Sun well-temper'd Shield
And dust? why warlike Name
Joyn'd 'mongst the Troops neglects? French Horse to tame
With sharp wolf-toothed Bit?
And shrinks cold yellow Tiber's wave to meet?
Why shuns he Wrastlers Oyl,
Like Vipers blood? nor wears skin bruised with Toil
Of Armours weight? prime found
For hurling Sledge, through far-thrown Dart renown'd?
Why lurks he as that Son
Of warlike THETIS once, near Troy's sad Fun'rals done?
Of Warlike Garments free'd,
Least forc'd to th' War 'mongst Trojan troops to bleed.
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