Salicio

How highly he may rate His fortunate estate, Who, to the sweets of solitude resigned, Lives lightly loose from care, At distance from the snare Of what encumbers and disturbs the mind! He sees no thronged parade, No pompous colonnade Of proud grandees, nor greedy flatterers vile, Ambitious each to sport In sunshine of a court; He is not forced to fawn, to sue, to smile, To feign, to watch of power each veering sign, Noticed to dread neglect, neglected to repine. But, in calm idlesse laid Supine in the cool shade Of oak or ilex, beech or pendant pine, Sees his flocks feeding stray, Whitening a length of way, Or numbers up his homeward-tending kine: Store of rich silks unrolled, Fine silver, glittering gold, To him seem dross, base, worthless, and impure; He holds them in such hate, That with their cumbrous weight He would not fancy he could live secure; And thinking this, does wisely still maintain His independent ease, and shuns the shining bane. Him to soft slumbers call The babbling brooks, the fall Of silver fountains, and the unstudied hymns Of cageless birds, whose throats Pour forth the sweetest notes; Shrill through the crystal air the music swims; To which the humming bee Keeps ceaseless company, Flying solicitous from flower to flower, Tasting each sweet that dwells Within their scented bells; Whilst the wind sways the forest, bower on bower, That evermore, in drowsy murmurs deep, Sings in the silent ear, and aids descending sleep. Who breathes so loud? 'Tis strange I see him not; Oh, there he lies, in that sequestered spot! Thrice happy you, who thus, when troubles tire, Relax the chords of thought, or of desire! How finished, Nature, are thy works! neglect Left nought in them to add to, or perfect. Heightening our joy, diminishing our grief, Sleep is thy gift, and given for our relief; That at our joyous waking we might find More health of body and repose of mind: Refreshed we rise from that still pause of strife, And with new relish taste the sweets of life. When wearied out with care, sleep, settling calm, Drops on our dewless lids her soothing balm, Stilling the torn heart's agonizing throes, From that brief quiet, that serene repose, Fresh spirit we inspire, fresh comfort share, And with new vigour run the race of care. I on his dreams will gently steal, and see If I the shepherd know, and if he be Of the unhappy or contented class: Is it Albanio slumbering there? Alas The unhappy boy! Albanio, of a truth; Sleep on, poor wearied, and afflicted youth! How much more free do I esteem the dead, Who, from all mortal storms escaped, is led Safe into port, than he who living here, So noble once, and lively in his cheer, Cast by stern fortune from his glorious height, Has bid a long, long farewell to delight! He, though now stript of peace, and most distressed, Was once, they say, most blissful of the blest, In amorous pledges rich; the change how great! I know not well the secret of his fate; Lycid, who knew the tale, sometime ago Told me a part, but much remains to know.