Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SECOND EPODE OF HORACE IMITATED, by THOMAS WARTON THE ELDER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SECOND EPODE OF HORACE IMITATED, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Happy the man who free from cares and strife
Last Line: In innocence of joy and rural mirth.
Subject(s): Farm Life; Hunting; Nature; Praise; Quiet Life; Agriculture; Farmers; Hunters


HAPPY the Man who free from Cares and Strife,
(Such was the calm primæval State of Life)
Securely ploughs his Fields and ancient Seat,
Fix'd in th'Indulgence of propitious Fate:
Him nor loud Trumpet's Clangors rouse to Arms,
Nor the fierce Deep's tempestuous Rage alarms;
He shuns the Bar, the Pride and empty State
That gilds the glittering Palace of the Great.
Now, pleasing Toil, the wanton-wreathing Vines
In soft Embraces to the Poplar joins;
To prune his barren Boughs his Hand employs;
Or distant-bleating Herds with silent Joys
His ravisht Eye contemplates, wand'ring wide
On a green Valley's wood-incircled Side.
From his prest Combs fat Streams ambrosial flow,
While fleecy Flocks their useful Pride bestow.
When ripe Autumnus blushes in the Fields,
Crown'd with the Fruits his own Luxuriance yields,
What Joys he feels to pluck the pendant Pear,
Nurst with his own kind Hand's assiduous Care!
Or purple, livid Grapes, the sweet Reward
Of old Sylvanus, his gay Garden's Guard
Beneath yon' Oak's impenetrable Shade,
On Mantle green of the Mosaïc Mead,
His languid Limbs he shelters from the Heat,
While Nightingales their luscious Lays repeat:
And the shrill Brook in Nature's Concert flows,
That courts and lulls the Soul to soft Repose:
But when the Rage of Tyrant-Winter low'rs
Big with tumultuous Winds, and frozen Show'rs,
He rushes to the Chace with sprightly Hounds,
While the fierce Boar his Spear impetuous Wounds;
Or careful spreads his Net, delusive Lure,
The greedy Thrush unheedful to secure:
Or captivates the Crane, or timorous Hares,
Or Engines for the Felon-Fox prepares.
These mild Amusements calm the troubled Breast,
Parents of Mirth and Health, Content and Rest.
Mean while her destin'd Part the Wife employs,
Wreath'd in th' Embraces of her blooming Boys;
Chaste as a Sabine, or Appulian Dame;
She wraps aspiring Piles in chearful Flame;
With fondling Smiles receives her weary Spouse,
For whom she spread her Feasts, and deck'd her House:
Then milky Streams from swelling Dugs are roll'd
That Herds afford within th'incircling Fold;
From fragrant Casks rich Wines profusely flow,
And with domestic Cheer an easy Feast bestow.
Nor me the Turbott or the Scarr delight,
Nor Oysters, fair Lucrina's Pride, invite,
Whom Winter's Fury to Italia's Main
Drives loudly thund'ring on the stormy Plain;
Nor the plump Partridge, soft voluptuous Bait,
Or Quails that swell the Banquets of the Great,
Than turgid Olives more allure my Taste,
Whose Boughs with fat Profusion bend opprest;
Or loosening Mallows' salutary Juice,
Or Sorrel sweet, that lowly Meads produce,
Or rescued from the Wolf a play-full Lamb;
(Tho' much I grieve to hear the plaintive Dam.)
Amidst this Luxury, what sweet Delight
To watch the joyful Flocks Return at Night!
To see the weary Oxen's lowing Train,
Whose languid Necks th' inverted Plow sustain,
And Swains that swarm around the glossy Hearth,
In Innocence of Joy and rural Mirth.





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