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N° 48.
THE RAMBLER.
291

Σὺ δέ μοι πρόφρων σύνοικος εἴῃς·
 Ἐι γάρ τις ἡ πλοῦτου χάρις ᾓ τεκέων,
        Τᾶς εὐδαίμονός τ' ανθρώποις
 Βασιληίδος ἀρχᾶς, ἤ πόθων,
Ὁὺς κρυφίοις Αφροδιτης ἅρκυσιν θηρεύομεν,
  Ἥ εἴ τις ἁλλα θεόθεν ἀνθρώποις τέρψις,
        Ἥ πόνων νἀμπνοὰ πέφανται·
 Μετὰ σεῖο μακαρία Ὑγίεια,
 Τέθηλε πάντα, καὶ λάμπει χαρίτων ἔαρ·
        Σέθεν δὲ χωῥὶς, οὐδεὶς εὐδαὶμων πέλει.


Health, most venerable of the powers of heaven! with thee may the remaining part of my life be passed, nor do thou refuse to bless me with thy residence. For whatever there is of beauty or of pleasure in wealth, in descendants, or in sovereign command, the highest summit of human enjoyment, or in those objects of desire which we endeavour to chase into the toils of love; whatever delight, or whatever solace is granted by the celestials, to soften our fatigues, in thy presence, thou parent of happiness, all those joys spread out and flourish; in thy presence blooms the spring of pleasure, and without thee no man is happy.

Such is the power of health, that without its co-operation every other comfort is torpid and lifeless, as the powers of vegetation without the sun. And yet this bliss is commonly thrown away in thoughtless negligence, or in foolish experiments on our own strength; we let it perish without remembering its value, or waste it to show how much we have to spare; it is sometimes given up to the management of levity and chance, and sometimes sold for the applause of jollity and debauchery.