Horace Book 1 Ode 22
The man, my friend, whose conscious
With virtue's sacred ardour glows,
Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart,
Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows:
Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads,
Or horrid Afric's faithless sands;
Or where the fam'd Hydaspes
His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands.
For while by Chloe's image charm'd,
Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd;
Me singing, careless and unarm'd,
A grisly wolf surprised, and fled.
No savage more portentous
Apulia's spacious wilds with gore;
None fiercer Juba's thirsty land,
Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.
Place me where no soft summer
Among the quivering branches sighs;
Where clouds condensed for ever
With horrid gloom the frowning skies;
Place me beneath the burning line,
A clime denied to human race;
I'll sing of Cloe's charms divine,
Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face.
Samuel Johnson
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Horace Book II Ode 9
Clouds do not always veil the skies, Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; Nor do the billows always rise, Or storms afflict the ruffled main
From Boethius De Consolatione Philosophiae Book II Metre 2
Though countless as the grains of That roll at Eurus' loud command; Though countless as the lamps of That glad us with vicarious light;
The Natural Beauty
To Stella: Whether Stella's eyes are Fix'd on earth or glancing round, If her face with pleasure glow,
The Vanity of Human Wishes The Tenth Satire of Juvenal Imitated by Samuel Johnson
Let Observation with extensive View, Survey Mankind, from China to Peru; Remark each anxious Toil, each eager Strife, And watch the busy Scenes of crowded Life;
