_Chorus:_ Now scattered and with paling light 125 The stars gleam in the sinking west; Now vanquished night collects her fires, Whose shining band at the day's return The star of morning drives away. High up in the frozen northern sky, The Arcadian Bears with their seven-fold stars, 130 Their course completed, hail the dawn. Now borne along by his azure steeds The sun looks forth from Oeta's ridge; With whose light suffused, the clustering grapes In the vineyards to Theban Bacchus dear Flush rosy red. The waning moon 135 Fades out of sight, to return again. Hard Toil awakens, at whose knock The doors of men are opened wide, And daily cares resumed. The shepherd sends his flock afield, And plucks, himself, the tender grass 140 Still sparkling with the frosty rime. The young bull sports among the fields At liberty; the dams refill Their empty udders; sportive kids Leap lightly o'er the tender grass 145 In aimless course. On the topmost branch The Thracian Philomela sings Her strident song, and near her nest Of chattering young she spreads her wings To the morning sun; while all around 150 The throng of birds with united songs Announce the day. The daring sailor spreads his sails To the freshening wind, as the breezes fill Their flapping folds. From wave-worn rocks The fisher leans and baits anew His cunning hook; he feels his line 155 A-tremble with the struggling fish, Or weighs his prize with practiced hand And eager eye. Such are the joys of him who lives 160 In tranquil and unworried peace; Whose pleasure is a humble house, His own, though small; whose simple hopes Are in the open fields.[17] But worried hopes in cities dwell, And trembling fears. There some would haunt The rich man's haughty vestibules, Wait at their proud, unfeeling doors, 165 Forego their sleep. Some heap up wealth, Though blest with boundless wealth, and gaze In admiration at their heaps; And yet, with all their gold, are poor. Some strain for the applause of men, The vulgar throng, whose fickle will Is shifting as the sea, and swell 170 With empty pride. The noisy mart Still others claim, who meanly deal In quarrelsome suits, and profit make Of wrath and empty words. Few know untroubled peace, the men Who, heeding time's swift flight, hold fast 175 The years that never will return. While fate permits, live happily; For life runs on with rapid pace, And with headlong speed the year's swift wheel 180