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!

UBLIC LIBRANT

A. TOR LENOX AND

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave,

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.