Classic Poem

While 'mid the sweet retreats of Stowe ,
Remote from noise and strife,
You wander pensive, sad, and slow,
Full oft revolving, as you go,
The various turns of life;

May Health, a constant guest, attend,
Where'er your footsteps rove:
To calm the bosom of my friend
May Peace her olive-branch extend,
On hill, in dale, and grove.

In conscious Virtue wrapt secure,
Amid the storms of Fate,
The ills that Fortune sends endure;
While some shall pass your humble door,
To haunt the Proud and Great.

What though the needs of ev'ry day
Still call to daily toil!
Content can spread a cheering ray,
Content a secret charm display,
And ev'ry care beguile.

With her and Innocence be blest,
Nor further bliss require:
Preserve a pure and tranquil breast;
Then leave to Providence the rest,
And, at his call, retire.