ndurance.
Not the worst part of the service the wearisome steps to be taken,
Neither the bitter sweat of a labor that presses unceasing;
Since the industrious freeman must toil as well as the servant.
But 'tis to bear with the master's caprice when he censures unjustly,
Or when, at variance with self, he orders now this, now the other;
Bear with the petulance, too, of the mistress, easily angered,
And with the rude, overbearing ways of unmannerly children.
All this is hard to endure, and yet to go on with thy duties
Quickly, without delay, nor thyself grow sullen and stubborn.
Yet thou appearest ill fitted for this, since already so deeply
Stung by the father's jests: whereas there is nothing more common
Than for a girl to be teased on account of a youth she may fancy."

Thus he spoke. The maiden had felt the full force of his language,
And she restrained her no more; but with passionate out-burst her feelings
Made themselves way; a sob broke forth from her now heaving bosom,
And, while the scalding tears poured down, she straightway made answer
"Ah, that rational man who thinks to advise us in sorrow,
Knows not how little of power his cold words have in relieving
Ever a heart from that woe which a sovereign fate has inflicted.
Ye are prosperous and glad; how then should a pleasantry wound you?
Yet but the lightest touch is a source of pain to the sick man.
Nay, concealment itself, if successful, had profited nothing.
Better show now what had later increased to a bitterer anguish,
And to an inward consuming despair might perhaps have reduced me.
Let me go back! for here in this house I can tarry no longer.
I will away, and wander in search of my hapless companions,
Whom I forsook in their need; for myself alone choosing the better.
This is my firm resolve, and I therefore may make a confession
Which might for years perhaps have else lain hid in my bosom.
Deeply indeed was I hurt by the father's words of derision;
Not that I'm sensitive, proud beyond what is fitting a servant;
But that my heart in truth had felt itself stirred with affection
Toward the youth who to-day had appeared to my eyes as a savior.
When he first left me there on the road, he still remained present,
Haunting my every thought; I fancied the fortunate maiden
Whom as a bride, perhaps, his heart had already elected.
When at the fountain I met him again, the sight of him wakened
Pleasure as great as if there had met me an angel from heaven;
And with