284
On Equality of Conditions.
Before Pandora, if we credit fame,
We all were equal, we are still the same.
Each having the same title to be blessed
Puts each upon a level with the rest.
Those slaves in yonder valley dost thou see,
Who cut a craggy rock, or lop a tree;
Who turn the course of streams; who, with a spade
The entrails of the fertile earth invade.
We do not find that model in those plains
On which were formed Fontenelle's soft swains.
There Timaret and Tircis are not found
Beneath a myrtle shade with chaplets crowned,
Graving upon the oaken bark their names,
And ever talking of their amorous flames;
But some rough man endowed with stubborn heart,
Who knows through mire to drive the laden cart:
Soon as Aurora streaks the russet skies,
From her coarse bed Perrette is forced to rise,
They pant, with dust I see them covered o'er;
Each day they labor as the day before;
By toil to cold and heat alike inured,
Both are by them with equal ease endured:
And yet they sing in rude tone, without note,
Old ballads which by Pellegrin were wrote.
Strength, health, sound sleep, the mind's serene repose,
To poverty and toil the laborer owes.
At Paris gay Colin no joy can find,
His ears are deafened, uninformed his mind:
We all were equal, we are still the same.
Each having the same title to be blessed
Puts each upon a level with the rest.
Those slaves in yonder valley dost thou see,
Who cut a craggy rock, or lop a tree;
Who turn the course of streams; who, with a spade
The entrails of the fertile earth invade.
We do not find that model in those plains
On which were formed Fontenelle's soft swains.
There Timaret and Tircis are not found
Beneath a myrtle shade with chaplets crowned,
Graving upon the oaken bark their names,
And ever talking of their amorous flames;
But some rough man endowed with stubborn heart,
Who knows through mire to drive the laden cart:
Soon as Aurora streaks the russet skies,
From her coarse bed Perrette is forced to rise,
They pant, with dust I see them covered o'er;
Each day they labor as the day before;
By toil to cold and heat alike inured,
Both are by them with equal ease endured:
And yet they sing in rude tone, without note,
Old ballads which by Pellegrin were wrote.
Strength, health, sound sleep, the mind's serene repose,
To poverty and toil the laborer owes.
At Paris gay Colin no joy can find,
His ears are deafened, uninformed his mind:
