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Elegy The First THE SIMPLE LIFE Give, if thou wilt, for gold a life of toil! Let endless acres claim thy care! While sounds of war thy fearful slumbers spoil, And far-off trumpets scare! To me my poverty brings tranquil hours; My lowly hearth-stone cheerly shines; My modest garden bears me fruit and flowers, And plenteous native wines. I set my tender vines with timely skill, Or pluck large apples from the bough ; Or goad my lazy steers to work my will, Or guide my own rude plough. Full tenderly upon my breast I bear A lamb or small kid gone astray; And yearly worship with my swains prepare, The shepherd's ancient way. Or guide I love those rude shrines in a lonely field Where rustic faith the god reveres, Or flower-crowned cross-road mile-stones, half concealed By gifts of travellers. Whatever fruit the kindly seasons show, Due tribute to our gods I pour; O'er Ceres' brows the tasseled wheat I throw, Or wreathe her temple door. My plenteous orchards fear no pelf or harm, By red Priapus sentinelled; By his huge sickle's formidable charm The bird thieves are dispelled. With offerings at my hearth, and faithful fires, My Lares I revere: not now As when with greater gifts my wealthier sires Performed the hallowing vow. No herds have I like theirs: I only bring One white lamb from my little fold, While my few bondmen at the altar sing Our harvest anthems old. Gods of my hearth! ye never learned to slight A poor man's gift. My bowls of clay To ye are hallowed by the cleansing rite, The best, most ancient way. If from my sheep the thief, the wolf, be driven, If fatter flocks allure them more, To me the riches to my fathers given Kind Heaven need not restore. My small, sure cropcont...
