Our portion is not large, indeed,

But then how little do we need,

For nature's calls are few!

In this the art of living lies,

To want no more than

may

And make that little do.

suffice,

We'll therefore relish with content,

Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our power;

For, if our stock be very small,

'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,

And pleased with favours given;

Dear Cloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incense of the heart,

Whose fragrance smells to heaven.

We'll ask no long-protracted treat,

Since winter-life is seldom sweet;

But, when our feast is o'er,

Grateful from table we'll arise,

Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,

The relics of our store.

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go ;

Its checquer'd paths of joy and woe

With cautious steps we'll tread; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble, or a fear,

And mingle with the dead.

While conscience, like a faithful friend, Shall through the gloomy vale attend,

And cheer our dying breath;

Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,

And smooth the bed of death.

LVIII.

THE RESOLVE.

ANONYMOUS.

My wayward fate I needs must plain,
Though bootless be the theme;

I loved, and was beloved again,

Yet all was but a dream:

For, as her love was quickly got,

So it was quickly gone;

No more I'll bask in flame so hot,

But coldly dwell alone.

Not maid more bright than maid was e'er

My fancy shall beguile,

By flattering word, or feigned tear,

By gesture, look, or smile:

No more I'll call the shaft fair shot,

Till it has fairly flown,

Nor scorch me at a flame so hot;

I'll rather freeze alone.

Each ambush'd Cupid I'll defy,
In cheek, or chin, or brow,

And deem the glance of woman's eye
As weak as woman's vow:

I'll lightly hold the lady's heart,

That is but lightly won;

I'll steel my breast to beauty's art,

And learn to live alone.

The flaunting torch soon blazes out,

The diamond's ray abides,

The flame its glory hurls about,

Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine,

And glow'd for me alone;

But, since each eye may see it shine,

I'll darkling dwell alone.

No waking dream shall tinge my thought
With dyes so bright and vain,

No silken net, so slightly wrought,
Shall tangle me again :

No more I'll pay so dear for wit,

I'll live upon mine own;

Nor shall wild passion trouble it,

I'll rather dwell alone.

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,—

"Thy loving labour's lost;

Thou shalt no more be wildly blest,

To be so strangely crost:

The widow'd turtles mateless die,

The phoenix is but one;

They seek no loves no more will I

I'll rather dwell alone."