Classic Poem

By the side of a mountain, o'er-shadow'd with trees,
—With thick clusters of vine intermingled and wove;
I behold my thatch'd cottage, dear mansion of ease,
—The seat of contentment, of friendship, and love!

Each morn when I open the latch of my door,
—My heart throbs with rapture to hear the birds sing;
And at night, when the dance in the village is o'er,
—On my pillow I strew the fresh roses of spring.

When I hide in the forest from noon's scorching beam,
—While the torrent's deep murmurs re-echoing sound;
When the herds quit their pasture to quaff the clear stream,
—And the flocks in the vale lie extended around:

I muse, but my thoughts are contented and free,
—I regret not the splendours of riches and pride;
The delights of retirement are dearer to me
—Than the proudest appendage to greatness ally'd.

I sing, and my song is the carol of joy;
—My cheek glows with health, like the wild rose in bloom;
I dance; yet forget not the blithesome and gay,
—That I measure the footsteps which lead to the tomb.

Contented to live—yet not fearful to die,
—With a conscience unspotted I pass thro' life's scene;
On the wings of delight every moment shall fly,
—And the end of my days be resign'd and serene.

By the side of a mountain, o'er-shadow'd with trees,
—With thick clusters of vine intermingled and wove;
I behold my thatch'd cottage, dear mansion of ease,
—The seat of contentment, of friendship, and love!

Each morn when I open the latch of my door,
—My heart throbs with rapture to hear the birds sing;
And at night, when the dance in the village is o'er,
—On my pillow I strew the fresh roses of spring.

When I hide in the forest from noon's scorching beam,
—While the torrent's deep murmurs re-echoing sound;
When the herds quit their pasture to quaff the clear stream,
—And the flocks in the vale lie extended around:

I muse, but my thoughts are contented and free,
—I regret not the splendours of riches and pride;
The delights of retirement are dearer to me
—Than the proudest appendage to greatness ally'd.

I sing, and my song is the carol of joy;
—My cheek glows with health, like the wild rose in bloom;
I dance; yet forget not the blithesome and gay,
—That I measure the footsteps which lead to the tomb.

Contented to live—yet not fearful to die,
—With a conscience unspotted I pass thro' life's scene;
On the wings of delight every moment shall fly,
—And the end of my days be resign'd and serene.