Horace Ode 4.7

Snows have scattered, now grasses return to the plains and leaves to the trees; earth changes its lot and the swelling rivers neglect their banks; the naked Grace with the Nymphs and her twin sisters dare to lead the choral dances. Lest you hope for eternal things, the year and the hour which seizes the nourishing day warns. Winters soften with the west winds, summer, also about to die, crushes spring, at the same time fruit-bearing autumn pours out crops, and soon stagnant winter returns. Yet swift moons repair celestial losses; we are dust and shadow when we have descended to where pious Aeneas, to where rich Tullus and Ancus (went). Who knows whether gods above might add tomorrow’s moments to today’s total? All which you give to a friendly mind will flee the greedy hands of an heir. When once you die and Minos has made his glittering judgments concerning you, Torquatus, no family, no eloquence, no piety will restore you; for neither does Diana free chaste Hippolytus from the infernal shades nor does Theseus prevail to break Lethean chains for his dear Pirithous.

Horace Ode 3.30

I have completed a monument more enduring than bronze and higher than the royal site of the Pyramids, which not devouring rain, not the wild north wind can destroy or the uncountable succession of the years and the flight of seasons. I will not wholly die, and a great part of me will avoid Libitina: I will grow fresh with following praise while the priest climbs the Capitoline with the silent maiden. Where violent Aufidus roars and where Daunus, poor in (lit. of) water, ruled the rustic peoples, I will be called, powerful from humble, first to have lead Aeolian song to Italian measures. Take the pride sought with merits and willingly ring my crown with Delphic laurel, Melpomene.

Horace Ode 3.13

O fountain of Bandusia, more glittering than glass, worthy of sweet wine not without flowers, tomorrow you will be honored with a kid-goat, whose forehead, swelling with first horns, destines both love and battles; in vain, for he will imbue your cold streams with red blood, offspring of the randy herd. The cruel hour of the blazing dog-star does not know to touch you, you offer pleasant chill to bulls wearied by the plow and to the wandering flock. You will become (one) of the noble fountains too, with me naming the oak set over the hollow rocks, whence your talkative waters jump down.

Horace Ode 3.9

“While I was pleasing to you nor was any more valued young man offering arms for your white neck, I flourished more blessed than the king of the Persians.”

“While you were not more inflamed by another and Lydia was not after Chloe, I, Lydia of great account, flourished more famous than Roman Ilia.”

“Now Thracian Chloe rules me, learned in sweet measures and expert of the lyre, for whom I will not fear to die, if the fates spare her life to go on.”

“Calais, son of Ornytus of Thurii, burns me with mutual torch, for whom I will endure to die twice, if the fates spare the boy to live on.”

“What if ancient Venus returns and forces those separated under the bronze yoke, if blond Chloe is shaken out and the door is open to rejected Lydia?”

“Although that man is fairer than a star, you are lighter than cork and more hot-tempered than the immoderate Adriatic, I would love to live with you, I would freely die with you.”

Horace Ode 3.1

I hate the uninitiated crowd and I keep (it) away; be propitious with your tongues: as priest of the Muses, for girls and boys I sing songs not before heard. Power of kings to be feared is over their own flocks, over the kings themselves is (the power) of Jove, famous for his triumph over the Giants, moving all thing by his eyebrow. It is for (one) man to arrange his trees more widely in his furrows than (another) man, (it is for) this man to go down to the Campus a more well-bread candidate, (it is for) this man to strive better in morals and reputation, (it is for) that man to have a larger crowd of clients: Necessity with fair rule sorts the famous and the lowest; her spacious urn moves every name. For whom a drawn sword hangs over his impious neck, Sicilian feasts will not enhance sweet flavor, the song of birds and the lyre will not lead back sleep: gentle sleep does not scorn the lowly homes of men and the shady bank, not Tempe shaken by the west winds. Neither the turbulent sea nor the savage attack of falling Arcturus or of rising Haedus worries the one desiring what is enough, not vines beaten by hail and a lying farm, with a tree blaming now the waters, now the stars parching the fields, now unfair winters. Fish feel seas narrowed with masses thrown into the deep; hither crowding the contractor throws down the rubble with his slaves and the master scornful of his land: but Fear and Threats climb to the same (place) as (lit. where) the master, nor does black Care leave the bronze-covered trireme, and she sits behind the knight. But if neither Phrygian stone nor the use, brighter than a star, of purples, nor Falernian vine and Achaemenid plant mollifies the man grieving, why with doorposts to be envied and with new rite am I to build a lofty entrance hall? Why am I to exchange troublesome riches for my Sabine vale?