Classic Poem

Happy the Man who his whole time doth bound
Within th'inclosure of his little ground.
Happy the Man whom the same humble place,
(Th'hereditary Cottage of his Race)
From his first rising infancy has known.
And by degrees sees gentle bending down,
With natural propension to that Earth
Which both preserv'd his Life, and gave him Birth.
Him no false distant lights by Fortune set,
Could ever into foolish wandrings get.
He never dangers either saw or fear'd:
The dreadful storms at Sea he never heard.
He never heard the shril alarms of War,
Or the worse noises of the Lawyers Bar.
No change of Consuls marks to him the year,
The change of seasons is his Calendar.
The Cold and Heat, Winter and Summer shows,
Autumn by Fruits, and Spring by Flow'rs he knows.
He measures time by Land-marks, and has found
For the whole day the Dial of his ground.
A neighbouring Wood born with himself he sees,
And loves his old contemporary trees.
H'as only heard of near Verona's Name,
And knows it like the Indies, but by Fame.
Does with the like concernment notice take
Of the Red Sea, and of Benacus Lake.
Thus Health and Strength he t'a third age enjoys,
And sees a long Posterity of Boys.
About the spacious World let others Roam,
The Voyage Life is longest made at home.