ODE. (From Horace.—Lib. ii. Od. 18.)
Reading edition
No ivory—no golden ceiling Adorns my modest home; No marble pillars, wealth revealing Proudly support the dome. No regal fortune, princely dwelling, Hath fate vouchsafed to me, I am not clad, in state excelling, In robe of sovereignty: A vein of wit, by nature’s blessing, And honest heart are mine. Yet me to honour, nought possessing The wealthiest incline; Why should I then the gods importune To add unto my store, Contented with my humble fortune I could not wish for more. Day hastes to follow day, and truly New moons but come to die, The tomb awaits thy ashes duly Mid all thy pageantry. Yet mindless of the fatal hour On high thou build’st the hall, Insatiate with thy wealth and power Thou fain would’st seize on all; Thy neighbour’s farm, thy neighbour’s dwelling, All would’st thou have for thee, ’Gainst justice and ’gainst law rebelling With base cupidity; While from their home unjustly driven The husband and the wife (The babes exposed to winds of heaven) Must linger out their life: But one sure homestead there remaineth Than all on earth more sure, The dark abode where Orcus reigneth Alike o’er rich and poor, Just earth entombeth ev’n the poorest With sons of royalty, And Charon thou in vain allurest For gold to set it free: Great kings renowned in ancient story He holdeth in his might, Far famed of old for warlike glory Now doomed to endless night: Invoked in pity he hath risen, And uninvoked,—to free The hapless poor from their earth-prison And grant them liberty. E. B. Watermeyer.