The powerful princely purple of the vine,
Twice dyed with the redoubled sun, does shine.
In the evening to a fair ensuing day,
With joy he sees his flocks and kids to play;
And loaded kine about his cottage stand,
Inviting with known sound the milker's hand:
And when from wholesome labour he doth come,
With wishes to be there, and wish'd for home,
He meets at door the softest human blisses,
His chaste wife's welcome, and dear children's kisses.
When any rural holydays invite
His genius forth to innocent delight,
On earth's fair bed, beneath some sacred shade,
Amidst his equal friends carelessly laid,
He sings thee, Bacchus, patron of the vine;
The beechen bowl foams with a flood of wine,
Not to the loss of reason, or of strength :
To active games and manly sport, at length,
Their mirth ascends, and with fill'd veins they see
Who can the best at better trials be.
From such the old Hetrurian virtue rose ;
Such was the life the prudent Sabines chose :
Such, Remus and the god, his brother, led;
From such firm footing Rome grew the world's head.*
Such was the life that, ev'n till now, does raise
The honour of poor Saturn's golden days :
world's head.] After this line, in the original, is inserted the following
"Septemque una sibi muro circumdedit arces"omitted by the translator, either as not seeing the force and propriety of it, or as not conceiving how this addition to the world's head could be made to look considerable in the eyes of the common reader.-Hurd.
Before men, born of earth, and buried there,
Let in the sea their mortal fate to share :
Before new ways of perishing were sought,
Before unskilful death on anvils wrought :
Before those beasts, which human life sustain,
By men, unless to the gods' use, were slain.
HAPPY the man, whom bounteous gods allow
With his own hands paternal grounds to plough!
Like the first golden mortals happy, he,
From business and the cares of money free!
No human storms break off at land his sleep;
No loud alarms of nature on the deep:
From all the cheats of law he lives secure,
Nor does the 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 neighbouring hills low back to them again;
And when the season, rich as well as gay,
All her autumnal bounty does display,
How is he pleased the increasing use to see
Of his well-trusted labours bend the tree!
Of which large shares, on the glad sacred days,
He gives to friends, and to the gods repays.
With how much joy does he, beneath some shade,
By aged trees' reverend embraces made,
His careless head on the fresh green recline,
His head uncharged 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.
Nor does the roughest season of the sky,
Or sullen Jove, all sports to him deny.
He runs the mazes of the nimble hare,
His well-mouth'd dogs' glad concert rends the air;
Or with game bolder, and rewarded more,
He drives into a toil the foaming boar :
Here flies the hawk to assault, and there the net,
To intercept the travailing fowl, is set;
And all his malice, all his craft, is shown
In innocent wars,* on beasts and birds alone.
This is the life from all misfortunes free,
From thee, the great one, tyrant Love, from thee;
And if a chaste and clean, though homely, wife
Be added to the blessings of this life,
Such as the ancient sun-burnt 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 sheep-fold or to milch the kine;
Who waits at door against her husband come
From rural duties, late and wearied home,
* innocent wars.] Innocent, he means, in comparison with wars on his own kind.
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;
Not all the lustful shell-fish of the sea,
Dress'd by the wanton hand of luxury,
Nor ortolans nor godwits, nor the rest
Of costly names that glorify a feast,
Are at the princely tables better cheer,
Than lamb and kid, lettuce and olives, here.
THE COUNTRY MOUSE.
A Paraphrase upon Horace, Book II. Sat. vi.
AT the large foot of a fair hollow tree,
Close to plough'd ground, seated commodiously,
His ancient and hereditary house,
There dwelt a good substantial country mouse;
Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main,
Yet one who once did nobly entertain
A city mouse, well coated, sleek, and gay,
A mouse of high degree, which lost his way,
Wantonly walking forth to take the air,
And arrived early, and belighted there,*
For a day's lodging: the good hearty host,
(The ancient plenty of his hall to boast)
Did all the stores produce, that might excite,
With various tastes, the courtier's appetite.
•-belighted there.] A humorously formed word, in allusion to benighted; to be overtaken by light, being to a mouse, whose journey of course is performed in the dark, what the being overtaken by night is to a man, who travels by day. Hurd.
Fitches and beans, peason, and oats, and wheat,
And a large chestnut, the delicious meat
Which Jove himself, were he a mouse, would eat.
And, for a haut goût, there was mix'd with these
The swerd of bacon, and the coat of cheese :
The precious reliques, which at harvest, he
Had gather'd from the reaper's luxury.
Freely (said he) fall on, and never spare;
The bounteous gods will for to-morrow care."
And thus at ease, on beds of straw they lay,
And to their genius sacrificed the day :
Yet the nice guest's Epicurean mind,
(Though breeding made him civil seem and kind)
Despised this country feast; and still his thought
Upon the cakes and pies of London wrought.
"Your bounty and civility, (said he)
Which I'm surprised in these rude parts to see,
Shews that the gods have given you a mind
Too noble for the fate which here you find.
Why should a soul, so virtuous and so great,
Lose itself thus in an obscure retreat?
Let savage beasts lodge in a country den;
You should see towns, and manners know, and men;
And taste the generous luxury of the court,
Where all the mice of quality resort;
Where thousand beauteous shes about you move,
And, by high fare, are pliant made to love.
We all, ere long, must render up our breath ;
No cave or hole can shelter us from death.
"Since life is so uncertain, and so short,
Let's spend it all in feasting and in sport.
Come, worthy sir, come with me, and partake
All the great things that mortals happy make."
Alas, what virtue hath sufficient arms
To oppose bright honour, and soft pleasure's charms?
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