HORACE TO FUSCUS ARISTIUS.

Health, from the lover of the country, me, Health, to the lover of the city, thee, A difference in our souls, this only proves, In all things else, we agree like married doves.

But the warm nest and crowded dove house thou Dost like; I loosely fly from bough to bough; And rivers drink, and all the shining day, Upon fair trees or mossy rocks I play; In fine, I live and reign when I retire From all that you equal with heaven admire.

Like one at last from the priest's service fled, Loathing the honied cakes, I long for bread.

Would I a house for happiness erect, Nature alone should be the architect.

She'd build it more convenient than great, And doubtless in the country choose her seat.

Is there a place doth better helps supply Against the wounds of winter's cruelty?

Is there an air that gentler does a.s.suage The mad celestial dog's or lion's rage?

Is it not there that sleep (and only there) Nor noise without, nor cares within does fear?

Does art through pipes a purer water bring Than that which nature strains into a spring?

Can all your tapestries, or your pictures, show More beauties than in herbs and flowers do grow?

Fountains and trees our wearied pride do please, Even in the midst of gilded palaces.

And in your towns that prospect gives delight Which opens round the country to our sight.

Men to the good, from which they rashly fly, Return at last, and their wild luxury Does but in vain with those true joys contend Which nature did to mankind recommend.

The man who changes gold for burnished bra.s.s, Or small right gems for larger ones of gla.s.s, Is not, at length, more certain to be made Ridiculous and wretched by the trade, Than he who sells a solid good to buy The painted goods of pride and vanity.

If thou be wise, no glorious fortune choose, Which 't is but pain to keep, yet grief to lose.

For when we place even trifles in the heart, With trifles too unwillingly we part.

An humble roof, plain bed, and homely board, More clear, untainted pleasures do afford Than all the tumult of vain greatness brings To kings, or to the favourites of kings.

The horned deer, by nature armed so well, Did with the horse in common pasture dwell; And when they fought, the field it always won, Till the ambitious horse begged help of man, And took the bridle, and thenceforth did reign Bravely alone, as lord of all the plain: But never after could the rider get From off his back, or from his mouth the bit.

So they, who poverty too much do fear, To avoid that weight, a greater burden bear; That they might power above their equals have, To cruel masters they themselves enslave.

For gold, their liberty exchanged we see, That fairest flower which crowns humanity.

And all this mischief does upon them light, Only because they know not how aright That great, but secret, happiness to prize, That's laid up in a little, for the wise: That is the best and easiest estate Which to a man sits close, but not too strait.

'Tis like a shoe: it pinches, and it burns, Too narrow; and too large it overturns.

My dearest friend, stop thy desires at last, And cheerfully enjoy the wealth thou hast.

And, if me still seeking for more you see, Chide and reproach, despise and laugh at me.

Money was made, not to command our will, But all our lawful pleasures to fulfil.

Shame and woe to us, if we our wealth obey; The horse doth with the horseman run away.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

Libr. 4, Plantarum.

Blest be the man (and blest he is) whom e'er (Placed far out of the roads of hope or fear) A little field and little garden feeds; The field gives all that frugal nature needs, The wealthy garden liberally bestows All she can ask, when she luxurious grows.

The specious inconveniences, that wait Upon a life of business and of state, He sees (nor does the sight disturb his rest) By fools desired, by wicked men possessed.

Thus, thus (and this deserved great Virgil's praise) The old Corycian yeoman pa.s.sed his days, Thus his wise life Abdolonymus spent: The amba.s.sadors which the great emperor sent To offer him a crown, with wonder found The reverend gardener hoeing of his ground; Unwillingly and slow, and discontent, From his loved cottage to a throne he went.

And oft he stopped in his triumphant way, And oft looked back, and oft was heard to say, Not without sighs, "Alas! I there forsake A happier kingdom than I go to take."

Thus Aglaus (a man unknown to men, But the G.o.ds knew, and therefore loved him then) Thus lived obscurely then without a name, Aglaus, now consigned to eternal fame.

For Gyges, the rich king, wicked and great, Presumed at wise Apollo's Delphic seat, Presumed to ask, "O thou, the whole world's eye, Seest thou a man that happier is than I?"

The G.o.d, who scorned to flatter man, replied, "Aglaus happier is." But Gyges cried, In a proud rage, "Who can that Aglaus be?

We have heard as yet of no such king as he."

And true it was, through the whole earth around No king of such a name was to be found.

"Is some old hero of that name alive, Who his high race does from the G.o.ds derive?

Is it some mighty general that has done Wonders in fight, and G.o.d-like honours won?

Is it some man of endless wealth?" said he; "None, none of these: who can this Aglaus be?"

After long search, and vain inquiries pa.s.sed, In an obscure Arcadian vale at last (The Arcadian life has always shady been) Near Sopho's town (which he but once had seen) This Aglaus, who monarchs' envy drew, Whose happiness the G.o.ds stood witness to, This mighty Aglaus was labouring found, With his own hands, in his own little ground.

So, gracious G.o.d (if it may lawful be, Among those foolish G.o.ds to mention Thee), So let me act, on such a private stage, The last dull scenes of my declining age; After long toils and voyages in vain, This quiet port let my tossed vessel gain; Of heavenly rest this earnest to me lend, Let my life sleep, and learn to love her end.

THE GARDEN To J. Evelyn, Esquire.

I never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them and the study of nature.

And there (with no design beyond my wall) whole and entire to lie, In no unactive ease, and no unglorious poverty.

Or, as Virgil has said, shorter and better for me, that I might there studiis florere ign.o.bilis otii, though I could wish that he had rather said n.o.bilis otii when he spoke of his own. But several accidents of my ill fortune have disappointed me hitherto, and do still, of that felicity; for though I have made the first and hardest step to it, by abandoning all ambitions and hopes in this world, and by retiring from the noise of all business and almost company, yet I stick still in the inn of a hired house and garden, among weeds and rubbish, and without that pleasantest work of human industry--the improvement of something which we call (not very properly, but yet we call) our own. I am gone out from Sodom, but I am not arrived at my little Zoar. "Oh, let me escape thither (is it not a little one!), and my soul shall live." I do not look back yet; but I have been forced to stop and make too many halts. You may wonder, sir (for this seems a little too extravagant and Pindarical for prose) what I mean by all this preface. It is to let you know, that though I have missed, like a chemist, my great end, yet I account my afflictions and endeavours well rewarded by something that I have met with by-the-by, which is, that they have produced to me some part in your kindness and esteem; and thereby the honour of having my name so advantageously recommended to posterity by the epistle you are pleased to prefix to the most useful book that has been written in that kind, and which is to last as long as months and years.

Among many other arts and excellencies which you enjoy, I am glad to find this favourite of mine the most predominant, that you choose this for your wife, though you have hundreds of other arts for your concubines; though you know them, and beget sons upon them all (to which you are rich enough to allow great legacies), yet the issue of this seems to be designed by you to the main of the estate; you have taken most pleasure in it, and bestowed most charges upon its education, and I doubt not to see that book which you are pleased to promise to the world, and of which you have given us a large earnest in your calendar, as accomplished as anything can be expected from an extraordinary wit and no ordinary expenses and a long experience.

I know n.o.body that possesses more private happiness than you do in your garden, and yet no man who makes his happiness more public by a free communication of the art and knowledge of it to others. All that I myself am able yet to do is only to recommend to mankind the search of that felicity which you instruct them how to find and to enjoy.

I.

Happy art thou whom G.o.d does bless With the full choice of thine own happiness; And happier yet, because thou'rt blessed With prudence how to choose the best.

In books and gardens thou hast placed aright, - Things which thou well dost understand, And both dost make with thy laborious hand - Thy n.o.ble, innocent delight, And in thy virtuous wife, where thou again dost meet Both pleasures more refined and sweet: The fairest garden in her looks, And in her mind the wisest books.

Oh! who would change these soft, yet solid joys, For empty shows and senseless noise, And all which rank ambition breeds, Which seem such beauteous flowers, and are such poisonous weeds!

II.

When G.o.d did man to his own likeness make, As much as clay, though of the purest kind By the Great Potter's art refined, Could the Divine impression take, He thought it fit to place him where A kind of heaven, too, did appear, As far as earth could such a likeness bear.

That Man no happiness might want, Which earth to her first master could afford, He did a garden for him plant By the quick hand of his omnipotent word, As the chief help and joy of human life, He gave him the first gift; first, even, before a wife.

III.

For G.o.d, the universal architect, 'T had been as easy to erect A Louvre, or Escurial, or a tower That might with heaven communication hold, As Babel vainly thought to do of old.

He wanted not the skill or power, In the world's fabric those were shown, And the materials were all his own.

But well he knew what place would best agree With innocence and with felicity; And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain.

If any part of either yet remain, If any part of either we expect, This may our judgment in the search direct; G.o.d the first garden made, and the first city, Cain.

IV.

Oh, blessed shades! Oh, gentle, cool retreat From all the immoderate heat, In which the frantic world does burn and sweat!

This does the lion-star, Ambition's rage; This Avarice, the dog-star's thirst a.s.suage; Everywhere else their fatal power we see, They make and rule man's wretched destiny; They neither set nor disappear, But tyrannise o'er all the year; Whilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence here.

The birds that dance from bough to bough, And sing above in every tree, Are not from fears and cares more free, Than we who lie, or sit, or walk below, And should by right be singers too.

What prince's choir of music can excel That which within this shade does dwell, To which we nothing pay or give - They, like all other poets, live Without reward or thanks for their obliging pains.

'Tis well if they become not prey.

The whistling winds add their less artful strains, And a grave base the murmuring fountains play.

Nature does all this harmony bestow; But to our plants, art's music too, The pipe, theorbo, and guitar we owe; The lute itself, which once was green and mute, When Orpheus struck the inspired lute, The trees danced round, and understood By sympathy the voice of wood.

V.

These are the spells that to kind sleep invite, And nothing does within resistance make; Which yet we moderately take; Who would not choose to be awake, While he's encompa.s.sed round with such delight; To the ear, the nose, the touch, the taste and sight?

When Venus would her dear Ascanius keep A prisoner in the downy bands of sleep, She odorous herbs and flowers beneath him spread, As the most soft and sweetest bed; Not her own lap would more have charmed his head.

Who that has reason and his smell Would not among roses and jasmine dwell, Rather than all his spirits choke, With exhalations of dirt and smoke, And all the uncleanness which does drown In pestilential clouds a populous town?