Classic Poem

TRANSLATED MDCCXXIX,-XXX .

Divitias alius fulvo sibi congerat auro.

Let others heap of wealth a shining store,
And much possessing labour still for more,
Let them disquieted with dire alarms
Aspire to win a dang'rous same in arms;
Me tranquil poverty shall lull to rest,
Humbly secure and indolently blest;
Warm'd by the blaze of my own cheerful hearth
I'll waste the wintry hours in social mirth,
In summer pleas'd attend to harvest toils,
In autumn press the vineyard's purple spoils,
And oft' to Delia in my bosom bear
Some kid or lamb that wants its mother's care:
With her I'll celebrate each gladsome day
When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay;
With her new mill on Pales' altar pour,
And deck with ripen'd fruits Pomona's bow'r.
At night how soothing would it be to hear
Safe in her arms the tempest howling near,
Or while the wintry clouds their deluge pour
Slumber assisted by the beating show'r!
Ah! how much happier than the fool who braves
In search of wealth the black tempestuous waves!
While I contented with my little store
In tedious voyage seek no distant shore,
But idly lolling on some shady seat
Near cooling fountains shun the Dogstar's heat:
For what reward so rich could Fortune give
That I by absence should my Delia grieve?
Let great Messalla shine in martial toils,
And grace his palace with triumphal spoils,
Me Beauty holds in strong tho' gentle chains
Far from tumultuous war and dusty plains.
With thee my Love! to pass my tranquil days
How would I slight Ambition's painful praise!
How would I joy with thee my Love! to yoke
The ox and seed my solitary flock!
On thy soft breast might I but lean my head
How downy should I think the woodland bed!
The wretch who sleeps not by his fair one's side
Detests the gilded couch's useless pride,
Nor knows his weary weeping eyes to close
Tho' murm'ring tills invite him to repose.
Hard were his heart who thee my Fair! could leave
For all the honours prosp'rous war can give,
Tho' thro' the vanquish'd east he spread his fame,
And Parthian tyrants trembled at his name,
Tho' bright in arms while hosts around him bleed
With martial pride he prest his foaming steed.
No pomps like these my humble vows require;
With thee I'll live and in thy arms expire.
Thee may my closing eyes in death behold!
Thee may my faltiring hand yet strive to hold!
Then Delia! then thy heart will melt in wo,
Then o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow,
Thy tears will flow, for gentle is thy mind;
Nor dost thou think it weakness to be kind:
But ah! fair Mourner! I conjure thee spare
Thy heaving breasts and loose dishevell'd hair;
Wound not thy form, lest on th' Elysian coast
Thy anguish should disturb my peaceful ghost.
But now nor death nor parting should employ
Our sprightly thoughts or damp our bridal joy:
We 'll live my Delia! and from life remove
All care all bus'ness but delightful love.
Old age in vain those pleasures would retrieve
Which youth alone can taste alone can give:
Then let us snatch the moment to be blest;
This hour is Love's — be Fortune's all the rest.