Classic Poem

All hail, ye fields, where constant peace attends!
All hail, ye sacred solitary groves!
All hail, ye books, my true, my real friends,
Whose conversation pleases and improves!

Could one who study'd your sublimer rules,
Become so mad to search for joys abroad?
To run to towns, to herd with knaves and fools,
And undistinguish'd pass among the crowd?

One to ambitious fancy's made a prey,
Thinks happiness in great preferment lies;
Nor fears for that his country to betray,
Curst by the fools, and laught at by the wise.

Others, whom avaricious thoughts bewitch,
Consume their time to multiply their gains;
And fancying wretched all that are not rich,
Neglect the end of life to get the means.

Others the name of pleasure does invite:
All their dull time in sensual joys they live,
And hope to gain that solid, firm delight,
By vice, which innocence alone can give.

But how perplext, alas! is human fate!
I, whom nor avarice nor pleasure move,
Who view with scorn the trophies of the great,
Yet must myself be made a slave to love.

If this dire passion never will be gone,
If beauty always must my heart enthral,
Oh! rather let me be confin'd to one,
Than madly thus be made a prey to all!

One who has early known the pomps of state
(For things unknown 'tis ignorance to condemn);
And after having view'd the gaudy bait,
Can boldly say, the trifle I contemn.

In her blest arms, contented could I live,
Contented could I die: but oh! my mind
I feed with fancies, and my thoughts deceive,
With hope of things impossible to find.

In women how should sense and beauty meet?
The wisest men their youth and folly spend:
The best is he that earliest finds the cheat,
And sees his errors while there's time to mend.