Classic Poem

How blest is he who far from Cares,
Like the old race of Men
His own paternal fields doth till
Free from all wrongful gain.

To action he is neither roused
By the harsh Trumpet's sound
Nor trembles at the angry sea
Which rages all around.

He either joins the fruitful vine
To the tall Poplar Tree,
Or feeding in a shady vale
His wand'ring flock doth see

Or cutting off the useless bough
More healthy plants he rears
Or pours fresh honey into jars
Or Sheep so tender shears

But when adorned with Apples sweet
Glad Autumn lifts his head
How he rejoices in the Pears
And in the Grape so red

With which, O Priapus, he thee
Will bounteously reward
And thee, Sylvanus who doth well
His territories guard.

Now in the shade he loves to lie
Under the ancient Oak
And now upon the verdant grass
Beneath th'o'erhanging rock

Meanwhile the dashing waters fall
Birds in the forest sing
The little streamlets murmuring flow
All which sweet slumbers bring.

But when the winter cold and bleak
Loud storms of Snow prepares
He either drives with many dogs
Fierce boars into the snares,

Or on a stake spreads slender nets
The Thrushes to surprise
Catches the Cranes or timid Hare
To him a joyful prize

Amongst these tranquil calm delights
The country doth impart
We not the cares of Love forget
Joyous and light the heart

But if at home a modest wife
He hath, and children sweet
Like Sabine or Apulian Spouse
That is so swift of feet

Who piles the wood upon the fire
When he comes weary home
And pens the cattle in the field
That they no more may roam

While from their teats abundant store
Of sweet milk she doth steal
And bringing fresh wine from the cask
Prepares a simple meal

No Lucrine Shell-fish Trout or Char
Appears more sweet to me
If driv'n from th'east by thund'ring storms
They e'er approach this sea

No Afric bird, or woodcock rare
Do more my palate please
Than ripest Olives plucked from off
The best boughs of the trees,

Or rhubarb that the meadows loves
Or mallows from the wood,
Or Lamb at Terminalian feast
Or kid, delicious food

The while, how pleased his sheep to see
All homeward hastening,
Or wearied oxen languidly
The heavy ploughshare bring;

And slaves that crowd the rich man's house
Day's labour being done
All circling round the cheerful fire
At setting of the sun […]