Softened by Time's consummate plush,

How sleek the woe appears

That threatened childhood's citadel

And undermined the years.


Bisected now, by bleaker griefs,

We envy the despair

That devastated childhood's realm,

So easy to repair.

    Happy the man, whose wish and care

    A few paternal acres bound,

    Content to breathe his native air

                In his own ground.


    Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

    Whose flocks supply him with attire;

    Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
...

Some Days retired from the rest

In soft distinction lie

The Day that a Companion came

Or was obliged to die

* * *


Some Men created for destruction come

Into the World & make the World their home

Be they as Vile & Base as Eer they can

Theyll still be called 'The Worlds' honest man