Happy time man whom bounteous gods allow With his own hand 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 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 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 pleas'd th' 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 mixed 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-mouthed 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 travelling 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 misfortune 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 sheepfold or to milk the kine;
Who waits at door against her husband come From rural duties, late, and wearied 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 load the board.
Not all the lustful shell-fish of the sea, Dressed 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.
