And daily cares resumed.
The shepherd sends his flock afield,
And plucks, himself, the tender grass 140
Still sparkling with the frosty rime.
The young bull sports among the fields
At liberty; the dams refill
Their empty udders; sportive kids
Leap lightly o'er the tender grass 145
In aimless course. On the topmost branch
The Thracian Philomela sings
Her strident song, and near her nest
Of chattering young she spreads her wings
To the morning sun; while all around 150
The throng of birds with united songs
Announce the day.
The daring sailor spreads his sails
To the freshening wind, as the breezes fill
Their flapping folds. From wave-worn rocks
The fisher leans and baits anew
His cunning hook; he feels his line 155
A-tremble with the struggling fish,
Or weighs his prize with practiced hand
And eager eye.
Such are the joys of him who lives 160
In tranquil and unworried peace;
Whose pleasure is a humble house,
His own, though small; whose simple hopes
Are in the open fields.[1]
But worried hopes in cities dwell,
And trembling fears. There some would haunt
The rich man's haughty vestibules,
Wait at their proud, unfeeling doors, 165
Forego their sleep. Some heap up wealth,
Though blest with boundless wealth, and gaze
In admiration at their heaps;
And yet, with all their gold, are poor.
Some strain for the applause of men,
The vulgar throng, whose fickle will
- ↑ Reading, et in agris.
