Would’st thou no more sad anguish know,
Nor lose the chase with feeble bow?
Would’st thou be free,[358] and tread once more
The grounds your fathers roamed of yore?
Wouldst thou find game in every copse
And stream,[359] and gather plenteous crops
In autumn, yet know naught of care
Nor labor, but with damsels fair[360]
And waxen, pass life’s endless days
Along my smooth and flower-girt ways?