For ease, in wide Aegean caught,The sailor prays, when clouds are hidingThe moon, nor shines of starlight aughtFor seaman's guiding:For ease the Mede, with quiver gay:For ease rude Thrace, in battle cruel:Can purple buy it, Grosphus? Nay,Nor gold, nor jewel.No pomp, no lictor clears the way'Mid rabble-routs of troublous feelings,Nor quells the cares that sport and playRound gilded ceilings.More happy he whose modest boardHis father's well-worn silver brightens;No fear, nor lust for sordid hoard,His light sleep frightens.Why bend our bows of little span?Why change our homes for regions underAnother sun? What exiled manFrom self can sunder?