Of Happiness to Mortal Man
Of happiness to mortal man
One is the road, and one the goal--
To keep unburthen'd, all he can,
From loads of care the tranquil soul.
But who so toileth night and day,
Nor day nor night permits sweet rest.
To steal him from himself away,
Or still the fever of his breast,
Nought will it profit, though he bear
On gloomy brow the stamp of care.
The Cloud of Fate
Peaceful wealth, or painful toil,
Chance of war, or civil broil,
'Tis not for man's feeble race
These to shun, or those embrace.
But that all-disposing Fate
Which presides o'er mortal state,
Where it listeth, casts its shroud
Of impenetrable cloud.
( translated by John Herman Merivale)