Now, fathers all, whoe'er you be (I aim not at that high degree), When you would sleep, trust none of those Around you, but your own doors close. He who would have a thing well done Should trust unto himself alone.
Once on a time, in slumber wrapt, A certain peasant had a vision Of a great Vizier, calmly lapt In endless joys of fields Elysian; Then straightway in a moment's space The dreamer sees another place, Wherein a Hermit bathed in fire Endures such torments as inspire Even those who share his fate With sympathy compassionate. Unusual this; indeed, so curious, It seemed as though the dreams were spurious, And to the dreamer so surprising, That straight he woke, and fell surmising His dreams were ill, as some aver. But soon a wise Interpreter, Consulted, said, "Be not perplexed, For if to me some skill is given To understand a secret text, These dreams are messages from heaven, And mean, On earth, whene'er he could, The Vizier sought sweet solitude; Whereas the Hermit, day by day, To courts of viziers made his way."
Now, if to this I dare to add, I'd praise the pleasures to be had Deep in the bosom of retreat; Pleasures heavenly, pure, and sweet. O Solitude! I know your charms! O Night! I ever in your breast, Far, far from all the world's alarms, By balmy air would still be blest; Oh, who will bear me to your shades? When shall the Nine, the heavenly maids, Far from cities, far from towns, Far from human smiles and frowns, Wholly employ my tranquil hours, And teach me how the mystic powers Aloft, unseen by human eyes, Mysterious, hold their mighty sway? And how the planets, night and day, Fashion and rule our destinies? But if for such pursuits as these I am not born, at least among The groves I'll wander, and in song Describe the woods, the streams, the trees. No golden threads shall weave my fate; 'Neath no rich silk I'll lie in state; And surely yet my eyes shall close In no less deep and sweet repose. To Solitude fresh vows I'll pay; And when, at length, the fatal day Shall place me in the arms of death, As calm I've lived, so calm I'll yield my breath.
Since goats have ever clambering browsed, By Nature's gentle force aroused, They've wandered far and wandered free, Enjoying sweets of liberty. Their greatest pleasure is to find Paths all unknown to human kind: A rock, or hanging precipice, Suits these wild animals' caprice: No wall can make their gambols cease. Two white-foot Goats, then, thus inspired,