A COUNTRY LIFE.
FROM THE LATIN OF AVIENUS, A.D. 380.
Safe-roof’d my cottage; swelling rich with wine
Hangs from the twisted elm my cluster’d vine.
Boughs glow with cherries, apples bend my wood;
And the crush’d olive foams with juicy flood.
Where my light beds the scattering rivulet drink,
My simple pot-herbs flourish on the brink;
And poppies smiling wave the rosy head,
That yield no opiate to a restless bed.