THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS.

Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares,
Anxious sighs, untimely tears,

Fly, fly to courts,

Fly to fond worldlings' sports,

Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glosing still,
And grief is forc'd to laugh against her will;
Where mirth's but mummery,

And sorrows only real be.

Fly from our country pastimes, fly,
Sad troops of human misery :-
Come serene looks,

Or the

Clear as the crystal brooks,

pure azur'd heaven that smiles to see The rich attendance on our poverty; Peace and a secure mind,

Which all men seek, we only find.

Abused mortals! did you know

Where joy, heart's-ease, and comforts grow,

You'd scorn proud towers,

And seek them in these bowers;

Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, But blustering care could never tempest make,

Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us,

Saving of fountains that glide by us.

Here's no fantastic masque nor dance,

But of our kids that frisk and prance ;

Nor wars are seen,

Unless upon the green

Two harmless lambs are butting one the other,

Which done, both bleating run each to his mother :

And wounds are never found,

Save what the ploughshare gives the ground.