Living
Odes 1.33: Albi, Ne Doleas
Translated by John Conington (3rd ed., before 1869) · From Odes, Book I
What, Albius! why this passionate despair
For cruel Glycera? why melt your voice
In dolorous strains, because the perjured fair
Has made a younger choice?
See, narrow-brow'd Lycoris, how she glows
For Cyrus! Cyrus turns away his head
To Pholoe's frown; but sooner gentle roes
Apulian wolves shall wed,
Than Pholoe to so mean a conqueror strike:
So Venus wills it; 'neath her brazen yoke
She loves to couple forms and minds unlike,
All for a heartless joke.
For me sweet Love had forged a milder spell;
But Myrtale still kept me her fond slave,
More stormy she than the tempestuous swell
That crests Calabria's wave.
Cite this poem
MLA
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus). “Odes 1.33: Albi, Ne Doleas.” Translated by John Conington. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/horace/31/.
Chicago
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus). “Odes 1.33: Albi, Ne Doleas.” Translated by John Conington. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/horace/31/.
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