And here he grew old, like a summer’s eve calmly declining.
From him came the farm unto me; and here, like my father,
I spent the best years of my life, and dwelt like a king amid plenty.
Servants I had; men servants to plow with my oxen;
And maids in the house, too; and children, the joy of their mother
And the hope of my eye, who grew up like olive-plants round us.
Thus sowing and reaping in comfort, from season to season abode I,
Envied by many, but having the good-will of all men.
At length came misfortune, and so put an end to my gladness.
The frost of one night destroyed all my yet unreaped harvest,