HORACE, Ode 22, Bk. V

SECURELY, after days
?Unnumbered, I behold
Kings mourn that promised praise
?Their cheating bards foretold.
Of earth-constricting wars.
?Of Princes passed in chains.
Of deeds out-shining stars.
?No word or voice remains.
Yet furthest times receive.
?And to fresh praise restore.
Mere flutes that breathe at eve.
?Mere seaweed on the shore;

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