Or a lifting and carrying, working and doing for others. 
Well for her, if she finds no manner of life too offensive,
And if to her the hours of night and of day all the same are,
So that her work never seems too mean, her needle too pointed,
So that herself she forgets, and liveth only for others! 
For as a mother in truth she needs the whole of the virtues,
When the suckling awakens the sick one, and nourishment calls for
From the exhausted parent, heaping cares upon suff’ring. 
Twenty men together could not endure such a burden,
And they ought not,—­and yet they gratefully ought to behold it.”

Thus she spoke, and with her silent companion advanced she
Through the garden, until the floor of the granary reach’d they,
Where the sick woman lay, whom she left by her daughters attended,
Those dear rescued maidens, the types of innocent beauty. 
Both of them enter’d the room, and from the other direction,
Holding a child in each hand, her friend, the magistrate, enter’d. 
These had lately been lost for some time by the sorrowing mother,
But the old man had now found them out in the crowd of the people. 
And they sprang in with joy, to greet their dearly-loved mother,
To rejoice in a brother, the playmate now seen for the first time!

Then on Dorothea they sprang, and greeted her warmly,
Asking for bread and fruit, but asking for drink before all things. 
And they handed the water all round.  The children first drank some,
Then the sick woman drank, with her daughters, the magistrate also. 
All were refresh’d, and sounded the praise of the excellent water;
Mineral was it, and very reviving, and wholesome for drinking.

Then with a serious look continued the maiden, and spoke thus
Friends, to your mouths for the last time in truth I have lifted the pitcher,
And for the last time, alas, have moisten’d your lips with pure water. 
But whenever in scorching heat your drink may refresh you,
And in the shade you enjoy repose and a fountain unsullied,
Then remember me, and all my friendly assistance,
Which I from love, and not from relationship merely have render’d. 
All your kindness to me, as long as life lasts, I’ll remember,
I unwillingly leave you; but each one is now to each other
Rather a burden than comfort.  We all must shortly be scatter’d
Over a foreign land, unless to return we are able. 
See, here stands the youth to whom for those gifts we’re indebted,
All those clothes for the child, and all those acceptable viands. 
Well, he has come, and is anxious that I to his house should go with him,
There as a servant to act to his rich and excellent parents,
And I have not refused him, for serving appears my vocation,
And to be served by others at home would seem like a burden. 
So I’ll go willingly with him; the youth appears to be prudent,
Thus will his parents be properly cared for, as rich