Classic Poem

Y E Zephyrs, groves, and fountains, hill and shade,
The weary'd spirit's renovating aid;
With you my fortune pants to be retir'd,
And at your image is with hope inspir'd.

Your inmates are the wise : — a wreck implores
Your smiling havens, and your peaceful shores;
To the afflicted heart that cannot rest,
In your deep silence, comfort is address'd.

Here Innocence with Poverty can dwell,
The day that's welcome, and its calm farewell;
Here stripp'd is Pleasure of the robe that charm'd,
And Peace the King of Terror has disarm'd.