The Works of Horace In English Verse By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical |
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 | The Works of Horace In English Verse |  |
393
EPISTLE X. To Fuscus Aristius.
This Epistle is wholly in Praise of a Country Life: And, inspired by his Subject, Horace is more poetical here than usual.
I, Lover of the Country, to my Friend,
A Lover of the Town, good Wishes send:
Twins in all else, but here much Difference lies;
Well-pair'd, what this refuses, that denies.
Like two old Doves we cherish mutual Love;
You keep the Nest; while I with Rapture rove
O'er Hills and Dales, or through the mossy Grove.
I, like a Slave from the Priest's Service fled,
Am cloy'd with honey'd Cakes, and long for Bread.
Would you agreeably to Nature live,
And chuse your Situation, can she give
One more delightful than the Country yields?
Where are the Winters milder?—When the Fields
Glow with the Lion's or the Dog-star's Ray,
Where do such balmy Gales their Heat allay?
Here anxious Cares our peaceful Slumbers fly.
Can Pavements of Numidian Marble vye
With Herbs, in Show or Smell? Are Streams in Lead
Confin'd, more pure than from the Fountain-head
Gushing with gentle Murmurs? Trees you love
Mix'd with your streaky Columns, and approve
That House, whence Fields in beauteous Prospect rise.
Drive Nature out, soon back again she flies,
And the weak Efforts of Disgust defies.
A Lover of the Town, good Wishes send:
Twins in all else, but here much Difference lies;
Well-pair'd, what this refuses, that denies.
Like two old Doves we cherish mutual Love;
You keep the Nest; while I with Rapture rove
O'er Hills and Dales, or through the mossy Grove.
I, like a Slave from the Priest's Service fled,
Am cloy'd with honey'd Cakes, and long for Bread.
Would you agreeably to Nature live,
And chuse your Situation, can she give
One more delightful than the Country yields?
Where are the Winters milder?—When the Fields
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Where do such balmy Gales their Heat allay?
Here anxious Cares our peaceful Slumbers fly.
Can Pavements of Numidian Marble vye
With Herbs, in Show or Smell? Are Streams in Lead
Confin'd, more pure than from the Fountain-head
Gushing with gentle Murmurs? Trees you love
Mix'd with your streaky Columns, and approve
That House, whence Fields in beauteous Prospect rise.
Drive Nature out, soon back again she flies,
And the weak Efforts of Disgust defies.
He, whose deluded Eyes alike admire
The purple Dye of Latium and of Tyre,
His grievous Loss will ne'er so dearly rue
As he, who blindly takes the false for true.
The purple Dye of Latium and of Tyre,
His grievous Loss will ne'er so dearly rue
As he, who blindly takes the false for true.
They whom Prosperity has rais'd too high,
Will sink, dejected by Adversity.
With what we love unwillingly we part.
Renounce the Charms of Grandeur—To the Heart
In the low Cottage more Contentment springs
Than know the Friends, or ev'n the Breasts of Kings.
The well-arm'd Stag drove from their common Field
The Horse: To Strength superior forc'd to yield,
He sought the Aid of Man, and took the Rein:
But when, the Foe defeated, from the Plain
Triumphant he return'd, in vain he strove
The Bit and galling Saddle to remove.
So he, who, flying Want, his Freedom gives
For meaner Gold, an endless Slave, receives
A Master, since he knew not how to use
The little that he had—In narrow Shoes
Our Feet are wrung, and stumble in the wide;
Such are the Mind and Fortune not ally'd.
Will sink, dejected by Adversity.
With what we love unwillingly we part.
Renounce the Charms of Grandeur—To the Heart
In the low Cottage more Contentment springs
Than know the Friends, or ev'n the Breasts of Kings.
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The Horse: To Strength superior forc'd to yield,
He sought the Aid of Man, and took the Rein:
But when, the Foe defeated, from the Plain
Triumphant he return'd, in vain he strove
The Bit and galling Saddle to remove.
So he, who, flying Want, his Freedom gives
For meaner Gold, an endless Slave, receives
A Master, since he knew not how to use
The little that he had—In narrow Shoes
Our Feet are wrung, and stumble in the wide;
Such are the Mind and Fortune not ally'd.
Live, Fuscus, happy in your present State;
Nor be afraid to let me feel the Weight
Of your Rebuke, whene'er your Friend desires
To heap up more than Competence requires.
For hoarded Wealth will govern, or obey;
More fit to follow than to lead the Way.
Nor be afraid to let me feel the Weight
Of your Rebuke, whene'er your Friend desires
To heap up more than Competence requires.
For hoarded Wealth will govern, or obey;
More fit to follow than to lead the Way.
Behind Vacuna's mouldering Shrine I write,
Where all things, but your Absence, give Delight.
Where all things, but your Absence, give Delight.
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