XXIII. Medley. ODE. FROM THE LATIN OF HORACE. H OW happy in his low degree, How rich in humble poverty is he, Who leads a quiet country life; Discharg'd of business, void of strife, And from the griping scrivener free! Thus, ere the seeds of vice were sown Liv'd men in better ages born, Who plow'd with oxen of their own Their small paternal field of corn. Nor trumpets summon him to war, Nor drums disturb his morning sleep, Nor knows he merchants' painful care, Nor fears the dangers of the deep. The clamors of contentious law, And court and state, he wisely shuns; Nor brib'd with hopes, nor dar'd with awe, To servile salutations runs ; But either to the clasping vine Does the supporting poplar wed, Unbearing branches from their head, Or climbing to a hilly steep, He views his buds in vales afar, Or shears his overburden'd sheep, Or mead for cooling drink prepares Of virgin honey in the jars; Or, in the now declining year, When beauteous Autumn rears his head, He joys to pull the ripen'd pear And clust'ring grapes, with purple spread. Sometimes beneath an ancient oak, Or on the matted grass, he lies; No god of Sleep he need invoke ; The stream that o'er the pebble flies, With gentle slumber crowns his eyes, The wind that whistles through the sprays Maintains the concert of the song; And hidden birds, with native lays, The golden sleep prolong. But when the blast of winter blows, Into the naked woods he goes, And seeks the tusky boar to near, With well-mouthed hounds and pointed spear! Or spreads his subtile nets from sight, Or makes the fearful bear his prey. No anxious care invades his health, Divides with him his household care, Such as the Sabine matrons were, Such as the swift Apulian's bride, Sunburnt and swarthy though she be, Will fire for winter nights provide, And-without noise-will oversee His children and his family; And then produce her dairy store, And unbought dainties for the poor; Not oysters of the Lucrine lake My sober appetite would wish, And hither waft the costly dish. Than the fat olives of my fields; That keep the loosened body sound; To the just guardian of my ground. That sit around his cheerful hearth, With wholesome food and country mirth. This Alphius said within himself, But the prevailing love of pelf, Soon split him on the former shelf- Translation of DRYDEN. LETTER OF SIR THOMAS MORE TO HIS WIFE. Mistress Alice, in my most hearty wise I recommend me to you. And whereas I am informed by my son Heron of the loss of our barns and our neighbours' also, with all the corn that was therein; albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is great pity of so much good corn lost; yet since it has liked him to send us such a chance, we must and are bounden, not only to be content, but also to be glad of his visitation. He sent us all that we have lost; and since he hath by such a chance taken it away again, his pleasure be fulfilled! Let us never grudge thereat, but take it in good worth, and heartily thank him, as well for adversity as for prosperity. And peradventure we have more cause to thank him for our loss than for our winning, for his wisdom better seeth what is good for us than we do ourselves. Therefore, I pray you be of good cheer, and take all the household with you to church, and there thank God, both for that he has given us, and for that he has taken from us, and for that he hath left us; which, if it please him, he can increase when he will, and if it please him to leave us yet less, at his pleasure be it! I pray you to make some good onsearch what my poor neighbours have lost, and bid them make no thought therefor; for, if I should not leave myself a spoon, there shall no poor neighbour of mine bear no loss by my chance, happened in my house. I pray you be, with my children and your household, merry in God; and devise somewhat with your friends what way were best to take, for provision to be made for corn for our household, and for seed this year coming, if we think it good that we keep the ground still in our hands. And whether we think it good that we so shall do or not, yet I think it were not best suddenly thus to leave it all up, and to put away our folk from our farm, till we have somewhat advised us thereon. Howbeit, if we have more now than ye shall need, and which can get them other masters, ye may then discharge us of them. But I would not that any man were suddenly sent away, he wot not whither. At my coming hither, I perceived none other but that I should tarry still with the king's grace. But now I shall, I think, because of this chance, get leave this next week to come home and see you, and then shall we farther devise together upon all things, what order shall be best to take. And thus as heartily fare you well, with all our children, as ye can wish. At Woodstock, the third day of September, by the hand of THOMAS MORE, 1480-1535. PEASANT PAVO. SWEDISH. Mid the high bleak moors of Saarijärvis, With them of sweat-earned bread partaking. Dikes he dug, and plowed his land and sowed it. He dug lower dikes with double labor, Sold his sheep, and purchased rye and sowed it. Summer came, and the descending hail-storms Dashed the early ears down, half destroying; Autumn came, and frosts the remnant blasted. Pavo's wife she smote her breast, exclaiming : "Pavo, Pavo! man the most unhappy, Let us die, for God hath us forsaken: Hard it is to die, to live is harder!" Pavo took her hand, and thus he answered: Then fell Pavo on his knees, thus speaking: |