Ease is the weary merchant's prayer, <br />Who ploughs by night the Ægean flood, <br />When neither moon nor stars appear, <br />Or faintly glimmer through the cloud. <br /> <br />For ease the Mede with quiver graced, <br />For ease the Thracian hero sighs, <br />Delightful ease all pant to taste, <br />A blessing which no treasure buys. <br /> <br />For neither gold can lull to rest, <br />Nor all a Consul's guard beat off <br />The tumults of a troubled breast, <br />The cares that haunt a gilded roof. <br /> <br />Happy the man whose table shows <br />A few clean ounces of old plate, <br />Nor fear intrudes on his repose, <br />Nor sordid wishes to be great. <br /> <br />Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay <br />Ah, why forsake our native home? <br />To distant climates speed away; <br />For self sticks close where'er we roam. <br /> <br />Care follows hard, and soon o'ertakes <br />The well-rigg'd ship, the warlike steed; <br />Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes -- <br />Not the wind flies with half her speed. <br /> <br />From anxious fears of future ill <br />Guard well the cheerful, happy now; <br />Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile, <br />No blessing is unmix'd below. <br /> <br />Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds, <br />Thy numerous flocks around thee graze, <br />And the best purple Tyre affords <br />Thy robe magnificent displays. <br /> <br />One me indulgent Heaven bestow'd <br />A rural mansion, neat and small; <br />This lyre; -- and as for yonder crowd, <br />The happiness to hate them all.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/horace-book-ii-ode-xvi/
