And come what will of care or wo,
As some must come to all,
I'll wish not that they were not so,
Nor mourn that they befall:
If tears for sorrows start at will,
They're comforts in their kind,
And I am blest, if with me still-
Remains a quiet mind.
When friends depart, as part they must.
And love's true joys decay,
That leave us like the summer's dust
The whirlwind puffs away;
While life's allotted time I brave,
Though left the last behind,
A prop and friend I still shall have,
If I've a quiet mind.
O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul;
'Tis then the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.
THE cold blast at the casement beats,
The window-panes are white,
The snow whirls through the empty streets
Sit down, old friend! the wine-cups wait;
Fill to o'erflowing! fill!
Though winter howleth at the gate,
In our hearts 'tis summer still!
For we full many summer joys
And greenwood sports have shared,
When, free and ever-roving boys,
The rocks, the streams we dared!
And, as I look upon thy face-
Back, back o'er years of ill,
My heart flies to that happy place,
Where it is summer still!
Yes, though, like sere leaves on the ground,
Our early hopes are strown,
And cherished flowers lie dead around,
And singing birds are flown,
The verdure is not faded quite,
Not mute all tones that thrill;
For, seeing, hearing thee to-night,
In my heart 'tis summer still!
Fill up the olden times come back!
With light and life once more
We scan the future's sunny track,
From youth's enchanted shore!
The lost return. Through fields of bloom
We wander at our will;
Gone is the winter's angry gloom-
In our heart 'tis summer still!
BY RICHARD LOVELACE.
How uncertain is the state
Of that greatness we adore;
When ambitiously we soar,
And have ta'en the glorious height,
'Tis but ruin gilded o'er,
To enslave us to our fate;
Whose false delight is easier got than kept,Content ne'er on its gaudy pillow slept.
Then how fondly do we try,
With such superstitious care,
To build fabrics in the air;
Or seek safety in that sky,
Where no stars but meteors are
That portend a ruin nigh:
And having reach'd the object of our aim,
We find it but a pyramid of flame.
THINK'ST thou the steed that restless roves
O'er rocks and mountains, fields and groves,
With wild, unbridled bound,
Finds fresher pasture than the bee,
On thymy bank or vernal tree,
Intent to store her industry
Within her waxen round?
Think'st thou the fountain forced to turn
Through marble vase or sculptured urn,
Affords a sweeter draught
Than that which, in its native sphere,
Perennial, undisturb'd and clear,
Flows, the lone traveller's thirst to cheer,
And wake his grateful thought?
Think'st thou the man whose mansions hold
The worldling's pomp and miser's gold,
Obtains a richer prize
Than he who, in his cot at rest,
Finds heavenly peace, a willing guest,
And bears the promise in his breast
Of treasure in the skies?
HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S
LIFE.
BY GILES AND PHINEAS FLETCHER.
THRICE, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state!
When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns!
His cottage low and safely humble gate
Shut out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns:
No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep:
Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep;
Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.
No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread
Draw out their silken lives: nor silken pride:
His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need,
Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dyed:
No empty hopes no courtly fears him fright:
Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite :
But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.
Instead of music, and base flattering tongues,
Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise;
The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs,
And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes:
In country plays is all the strife he uses;
Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses;
And but in music's sports all difference refuses
His certain life, that never can deceive him,
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