Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/258

240 But gilded ceilings break our rest, And sleepless through the night we lie On beds of luxury. Oh, should the rich lay bare their hearts, What fears which lofty fortune breeds Would be revealed! The Bruttian coast When Corus lashes up the sea Is calmer far. Not so the poor: His heart is ever full of peace. From shallow beechen cups he drinks, But not with trembling hands; his food Is cheap and common, but he sees No naked sword above his head. 'Tis in the cup of gold alone That blood is mingled with the wine. The poor man's wife no necklace wrought Of costly pearls, the red sea's gift, May wear; no gems from eastern shores Weigh down her ears; nor does she wear Soft scarlet wools in Tyrian dye Twice dipped; not hers with Lydian art To 'broider costly silks whose threads The Serians under sunlit skies From orient treetops gather; she With common herbs must dye the web Which she with unskilled hands has wov'n: But still her husband is her own, Her couch by rivals undisturbed. But favored brides, whose wedding day The thronging people celebrate, Fate, with her cruel torch pursues. The poor no happiness can know Unless he sees the fortunate From their high station fallen. Whoever shuns the middle course Can never in safe pathways go. When once bold Phaethon essayed Within his father's car to stand And give the day, and did not fare