ODE VII. то CONTENTMENT. BY THE REV. THOMAS COLE. To these lone shades, where Peace delights to dwell, Here bid the world, with all its cares, farewel, Oft as the summer's sun shall cheer this scene ray, Here let my soul enjoy each eve serene, Here share its calm, 'till life's declining day. No gladsome image then should 'scape my sight, From these gay flowers, which border near my eye, To yon bright cloud, that decks, with richest light, The gilded mantle of the western sky. With ample gaze I'd trace that ridge remote, The steeple's summit peeping o'er the plain. What various works that rural landscape fill, Her chequer'd scene of crops and fallows shows! How should I love to mark that riv'let's maze, Through which it works its untaught course along; Whilst near its grassy banks the herd shall graze, And blithsome milkmaid chaunt her thoughtless song! Still would I note the shades of length'ning sheep, Nor should my leisure seldom wait to view The slow-wing'd rooks in homeward train succeed; Nor yet forbear the swallow to pursue, With quicker glance, close skimming o'er the mead. But mostly here should I delight t' explore The bounteous laws of Nature's mystic power; And give to solemn thoughts the sober hour. Let mirth unenvy'd laugh with proud disdain, Nor interrupt those joys she cannot taste. Far sweeter streams shall flow from Wisdom's spring, Hail, Silence, then! be thou my frequent guest; What joy for tutor❜d Piety to learn All that my Christian solitude can teach, Where weak-ey'd Reason's self may well discern Each clearer truth the gospel deigns to preach? No object here but may convince the mind 'Tis God that gives this bower its awful gloom; Oh, may the guidance of thy grace attend Or vice convert it into means of woe. Incline and aid me still my life to steer, As conscience dictates what to shun or chuse ; Nor let my heart feel anxious hope or fear, For aught this world can give me or refuse. Then shall not wealth's parade one wish excite, For wretched state to barter peace away; Nor vain ambition's lure my pride invite, Beyond Contentment's humble path to stray. What though thy wisdom may my lot deny, And sure the heart that wills the genʼrous deed For she best loves from notice to recede, Then will I sometimes bid my fancy steal So shall I gain the gold without alloy; Without oppression, toil, or treach❜rous snares; So shall I know its use, its power employ, And yet avoid its dangers and its cares. And, spite of all that boastful wealth can do, In vain would Fortune strive the rich to bless, Where they not flatter'd with some distant view Of what she ne'er can give them to possess. E'en Wisdom's high conceit great wants would feel, If not supply'd from Fancy's boundless store; And nought but shame makes power itself conceal, That she, to satisfy, must promise more. But though experience will not fail to show, Yet should not Prudence her light wing command, For Pleasure soon shall quit her fairy-land From Truth's abode, in search of kind deceit, If roving does not make her hate retreat, |