in undisturbed peace, yet not in sleep: let exercise a vigorous health maintain, without which all the composition's vain. In the same weight prudence and innocence take; ana of each does the just mixture make: but a few friendships wear, and let them be by Nature and by Fortune fit for thee: instead of art and luxury in food, let mirth and freedom make thy table good: at night, without wine's opium, let them sleep: enjoy the present hour, be thankful for the past, and neither fear nor wish th' approaches of the last. HORAT. EPODON. Beatus ille qui procul, &c. Happy the man whom bounteous gods allow with his own hands paternal grounds to plough! like the first golden mortals, happy he, from bus'ness and the cares of money free! no human storms beak off at land his sleep, no loud alarms of Nature on the deep; from all the cheats of law he lives secure, nor does th' affronts of palaces endure. Sometimes the beauteous marriageable Vine he to the lusty bridegroom Elm does join ; sometimes he lops the barren trees around, and grafts new life into the fruitful wound; sometimes he shears his flock, and sometimes he stores up the golden treasures of the bee: he sees his lowing herds walk o'er the plain, whilst neighb'ring hills low back to them again; and when the season rich, as well as gay, all her autumnal bounty does display, how is he pleas'd th' increasing use to see of his well trusted labours bend the tree? of which large shares, on the glad sacred days, to gives to friends, and to the gods repays:: with how much joy does he beneath some shade, by aged trees' rev'rend embraces made, his careless head on the fresh green recline, his head, uncharg'd with fear or with design? by him a river constantly complains, the birds above rejoice with various strains, and in the solemn scene their orgies keep, like dreams mix'd with the gravity of sleep; Sleep, which does always there for entrance wait and nought within against it shuts the gate. This is the life from all misfortunes free, from thee the great one, tyrant Love! from thee; and if a chaste and clean, through homely wife, be added to the blessings of this life, such as the ancient sunburnt Sabines were, such as Apulia, frugal still, does bear, who makes her children and the house her care, and joyfully the work of life does share, nor thinks herself too noble, or too fine, to pin the sheepfold, or to milk the kine, who waits at door against her husband come, from rural duties, late, and weary'd home, where she receives him with a kind embrace, a cheerful fire, and a more cheerful face, and fills the bowl up to her homely lord, and with domestic plenty loads the board; THE COUNTRY LIFE. Bless'd be the man (and bless'd he is) whom e'er the field gives all that frugal Nature needs; he sees (nor does the sight disturb his res1) th' ambassadors, which the great emp❜ror sent to offer him a crown, with wonder found the rev'rend gard'ner hoeing of his ground: unwillingly, and slow, and discontent, from his loy'd cottage to a throne he went; and oft' he stopp'd in his triumphant way, and oft' look'd back, and oft' was heard to say, not without sighs, Alas! I there forsake a happier kingdom than I go to take. Thus Aglaüs (a man unknown to men, but the gods knew, and therefore lov'd him then thus liv'd obscurely then without a name, presum❜d to ask, oh! thou, the whole world's eye, in a proud rage, Who can that Aglaüs be? we've heard as yet of no such king as he. And true it was, through the whole earth around no king of such a name was to be found. Is some old hero of that name alive, who his high race does from the gods derive? is it some mighty gen'ral, that has done wonders in sight, and godlike honours won? is it some man of endless wealth? said he. None, none of these. Who can this Aglaüs be? after long search and vain inquiries past, in an obscure Arcadian vale at last, (th' Arcadian life has always shady been) near Sopho's town (which he but once had seen) this Aglaüs, who monarchs' envy drew, whose happiness the gods stood witness to, this mighty Aglaüs was lab'ring found, with his own hands, in his own little ground. So, gracious God! (if it may lawful be among those foolish gods to mention thee,) so let me act, on such a private stage, the last dull scenes of my declining age: after long toils and voyages in vain, this quiet port let my toss'd vessel gain: of heav'nly rest this earnest to me lend; let my life sleep, and learn to love her end. OF GREATNESS. If ever I more riches did desire than cleanliness and quiet do require; OF AVARICE. And, oh! what man's condition can be worse than his whom plenty starves and blessings curse? the beggars but a common fate deplore; the rich poor man's emphatically poor. I admire, Macænas! how it comes to pass that no man ever yet contented was, nor is, nor perhaps will be, with that state But, hold, you whom no fortune e'er endears, No. 77. |