d to
a greater number of mine own oxen; or that my cattle before the
scorching dog-star should change the Calabrian for the Lucanian
pastures: neither that my white country-box should equal the Circaean
walls of lofty Tusculum. Your generosity has enriched me enough, and
more than enough: I shall never wish to amass, what either, like the
miser Chremes, I may bury in the earth, or luxuriously squander, like a
prodigal.

* * * * *

ODE II.

THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.

Happy the man, who, remote from business, after the manner of the
ancient race of mortals, cultivates his paternal lands with his own
oxen, disengaged from every kind of usury; he is neither alarmed by the
horrible trump, as a soldier, nor dreads he the angry sea; he shuns both
the bar and the proud portals of citizens in power. Wherefore he either
weds the lofty poplars to the mature branches of the vine; and, lopping
off the useless boughs with his pruning-knife, he ingrafts more fruitful
ones: or he takes a prospect of the herds of his lowing cattle,
wandering about in a lonely vale; or stores his honey, pressed [from the
combs], in clean vessels; or shears his tender sheep. Or, when autumn
has lifted up in the fields his head adorned with mellow fruits, how
does he rejoice, while he gathers the grafted pears, and the grape that
vies with the purple, with which he may recompense thee, O Priapus, and
thee, father Sylvanus, guardian of his boundaries! Sometimes he delights
to lie under an aged holm, sometimes on the matted grass: meanwhile the
waters glide along in their deep channels; the birds warble in the
woods; and the fountains murmur with their purling streams, which
invites gentle slumbers. But when the wintery season of the tempestuous
air prepares rains and snows, he either drives the fierce boars, with
many a dog, into the intercepting toils; or spreads his thin nets with
the smooth pole, as a snare for the voracious thrushes; or catches in
his gin the timorous hare, or that stranger the crane, pleasing rewards
[for his labor]. Among such joys as these, who does not forget those
mischievous anxieties, which are the property of love. But if a chaste
wife, assisting on her part [in the management] of the house, and
beloved children (such as is the Sabine, or the sun-burned spouse of the
industrious Apulian), piles up the sacred hearth with old wood, just at
the approach of her weary husband; and, shutt