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CONTENT IS HAPPINESS.
What art thou, Happiness, so sought by all,
Cellars and granaries in vain we fill
When in the crimson cloud of even
The lingering light decays,
His glittering gem displays;
Beside a lulling stream,
Indulged this tender theme :
High o'er the glimmering dale;
Murmurs the solemn gale:
And Wo retires to weep,
Gleams on the western deep:
Ne'er drew ambition's eye,
To your retreats I fly.
Let me at last recline,
Leans on her ivied shrine.
“How shall I woo thee, matchless fair!
Thy heavenly smile how win!
And stills the storm within.
Thine ardent votary bring,
Serene, on silent wing ?
66 Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind
With dreams of former days,
He framed his infant lay;
Nor cold Distrust alarmed,
His simple youth hath harmed.
• 'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee
His early vows were paid,
Devoted to the shade.
In stormy paths to roam,
O take the wanderer home,
Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, Thy charms my only theme;
My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream ; Whence the scared owl on pinions gray
Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.
“0, while to thee the woodland pours
Its wildly warbling song,
The zephyr breathes along;
No vagrant foot be nigh,
Flash on the startled eye.
“But if some pilgrim through the glade
Thy hallowed bowers explore,
And listen to his lore;
That wean from earthly wo,
That chains his heart below.
“For me no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread : No more I climb those toilsome heights,
By guileful Hope misled;
Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Mirth's enlivening strain ;
And all the past is vain."
Let others boast their heaps of shining gold,
And trumpets break their slumbers, never sound.
While calmly poor I trifle life away,
Enjoy sweet leisure by my cheerful fire,
But cheaply blest, I'll scorn each vain desire.
With timely care I'll sow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its master's hand, Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range my sheaves along the sunny land.
If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.