啊!他是幸福的，每一个神都在爱中眷顾着他的出生，明亮的伊达利亚摇篮着他最早的睡眠，雄辩的赫尔墨斯的杖点燃了他年轻的嘴唇——他的眼睛，还没有醒来，阿波罗就偷走了光明，而朱庇特在帝王的眉毛上印上了力量的印记!神就像为他分配的阄一样，他在赛跑之前赢得了花环;在懂得生活的烦恼之前，他学会了生活的智慧，不辞辛劳，便对优雅微笑。伟大的人，我承认，他的精神力量，自我塑造它的目标，征服命运——美德可以征服命运，但不能蒙蔽无常的幸福，它的微笑等待着那些很少寻求它的人;勇气也不能得到优雅从她自己的自由瓮中所不能得到的!坚决的意志能保护警醒的精神，使他免受任何不值得的事的伤害——一切从天上降下来的荣耀都到此为止;就像某个可爱的女主人爱我们一样，自由自在地来接受上天的恩赐!——恩宠支配爱情，正如恩宠支配爱情一样!神仙有他们的偏见!——他们亲切地看到青春的亮丽的头发迷恋游戏，快乐的人走到哪里，就把快乐洒向哪里。 It is not they who boast the best to see, Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless; The stately light of their divinity Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;-- And their choice spirit found its calm recess In the pure childhood of a simple mind. Unasked they come delighted to delude The expectation of our baffled pride; No law can call their free steps to our side. Him whom he loves, the sire of men and gods (Selected from the marvelling multitude) Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes; And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down, The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown! Before the fortune-favored son of earth, Apollo walks--and, with his jocund mirth, The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave-- Harmless the waters for the ship that bore The Caesar and his fortunes to the shore! Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies, To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave; His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife-- The lord of all the beautiful of life; Where'er his presence in its calm has trod, It charms--it sways as solve diviner God. Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him The light-won victory by the gods is given, Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe, The Venus draws her darling--Whom the heaven So prospers, love so watches, I revere! And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts, No less the glory of the Dorian lord That Vulcan wrought for him the shield and sword-- That round the mortal hovered all the hosts Of all Olympus--that his wrath to grace, The best and bravest of the Grecian race Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts! Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful, If without labor they life's blossoms cull; If, like the stately lilies, they have won A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;-- If without merit, theirs be beauty, still Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill. Alike for thee no merit wins the right, To share, by simply seeing, their delight. Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast, But with that soul he animates the rest; The god inspires the mortal--but to God, In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod. Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear; Holy himself--he hallows those who hear! The busy mart let justice still control, Weighing the guerdon to the toil!--What then? A God alone claims joy--all joy is his, Flushing with unsought light the cheeks of men. Where is no miracle, why there no bliss! Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be, Shapened from form to form, by toiling time; The blissful and the beautiful are born Full grown, and ripened from eternity-- No gradual changes to their glorious prime, No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.-- Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea; Like the first Pallas, in maturest might, Armed, from the thunderer's--brow, leaps forth each thought of light.