Horace

Horace, Odes Book II.XX (Johnson)

Now with no weak unballast wing
A poet double-form’d I rise,
From th’envious world with scorn I spring,
And cut with joy the wondering skies.

Though from no princes I descend,
Yet shall I see the blest abodes,
Yet, great Maecenas shall your friend
Quaff nectar with th’immortal Gods.

See! how the mighty change is wrought!
See how whatre remain’d of man
By plumes is veil’d; see! quick as thought
I pierce the clouds a tuneful swan.

Swifter than Icarus I’ll fly
Where Lybias swarthy offspring burns,
And where beneath th’inclement skis
The hardy Scythian ever mourns.

My works shall propagate my fame,
To distant realms and climes unknown,
Nations shall celebrate my name
That drink the Phasis or the Rhone.

Restrain your tears and cease your cries,
Nor grace with fading flours my hearse.
I without funeral elegies
Shall live forever in my verse.

Horace, Odes Book II.XX (Johnson)

Now with no weak unballast wing
A poet double-form’d I rise,
From th’envious world with scorn I spring,
And cut with joy the wondering skies.

Though from no princes I descend,
Yet shall I see the blest abodes,
Yet, great Maecenas shall your friend
Quaff nectar with th’immortal Gods.

See! how the mighty change is wrought!
See how whatre remain’d of man
By plumes is veil’d; see! quick as thought
I pierce the clouds a tuneful swan.

Swifter than Icarus I’ll fly
Where Lybias swarthy offspring burns,
And where beneath th’inclement skis
The hardy Scythian ever mourns.

My works shall propagate my fame,
To distant realms and climes unknown,
Nations shall celebrate my name
That drink the Phasis or the Rhone.

Restrain your tears and cease your cries,
Nor grace with fading flours my hearse.
I without funeral elegies
Shall live forever in my verse.