Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/142

124 And daily cares resumed. The shepherd sends his flock afield, And plucks, himself, the tender grass Still sparkling with the frosty rime. The young bull sports among the fields At liberty; the dams refill Their empty udders; sportive kids Leap lightly o'er the tender grass In aimless course. On the topmost branch The Thracian Philomela sings Her strident song, and near her nest Of chattering young she spreads her wings To the morning sun; while all around The throng of birds with united songs Announce the day. The daring sailor spreads his sails To the freshening wind, as the breezes fill Their flapping folds. From wave-worn rocks The fisher leans and baits anew His cunning hook; he feels his line A-tremble with the struggling fish, Or weighs his prize with practiced hand And eager eye. Such are the joys of him who lives In tranquil and unworried peace; Whose pleasure is a humble house, His own, though small; whose simple hopes Are in the open fields. But worried hopes in cities dwell, And trembling fears. There some would haunt The rich man's haughty vestibules, Wait at their proud, unfeeling doors, Forego their sleep. Some heap up wealth, Though blest with boundless wealth, and gaze In admiration at their heaps; And yet, with all their gold, are poor. Some strain for the applause of men, The vulgar throng, whose fickle will