You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Agriculture is best, enterprise is acceptable, but avoid being on a fixed wage.
Agriculture is best, enterprise is acceptable, but avoid being on a fixed wage.
The life of the husbandman,--a life led by the bounty of earth
and sweetened by the airs of heaven.
The life of the husbandman,--a life led by the bounty of earth
and sweetened by the airs of heaven.
A field becomes exhausted by constant tillage.
[Lat., Continua messe senescit ager.]
A field becomes exhausted by constant tillage.
[Lat., Continua messe senescit ager.]
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How read more
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team a-field!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Happy he who far from business, like the primitive are of
mortals, cultivates with his own oxen the fields read more
Happy he who far from business, like the primitive are of
mortals, cultivates with his own oxen the fields of his fathers,
free from all anxieties of gain.
[Lat., Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,
Ut prisca gens mortalium,
Paterna rura bobus exercet suis,
Solutus omni faenore.]
The first farmer was the first man, and all historic nobility
rests on possession and use of land.
The first farmer was the first man, and all historic nobility
rests on possession and use of land.
Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day read more
Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day that hous'd their annual grain,
With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.
E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain
Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain,
Oft have read more
E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain
Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain,
Oft have I seen the war of winds contend,
And prone on earth th' infuriate storm descend,
Waste far and wide, and by the roots uptorn,
The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne,
As light straw and rapid stubble fly
In dark'ning whirlwinds round the wintry sky.
