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Olives, fresh gather'd from the tree;
Mallows, the frame from heaviness to free[1];
A kid snatch'd from the wolf, a lamb
To Terminus with due devotion slain;
Such is the meal, his labor o'er;
No bird from distant climes I'd relish more.
Meanwhile how pleasant to behold
His sheep well fed, and hasting to their fold;
To see his wearied oxen bow
Their languid necks, and drag th' inverted plough;
And then his num'rous slaves to view
Round his domestic gods their mirth pursue.
- ↑ See chap. xii. p. 191.
