Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/196

 Darts not-unmeaning looks; and, where her eye Points an approving smile, with double force, The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines. Age too shines out; and, garrulous, recounts The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice; nor think That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil Begins again the never-ceasing round.

knew he but his happiness, of Men The happiest he! who far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice Few retir'd, Drinks the pure pleasures of the. What tho' the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd? Vile intercourse! What tho' the glittering robe, Of every hue reflected light can give, Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold, The pride and gaze of fools! oppress him not? What tho', from utmost land and sea purvey'd, For him each rarer tributary life Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps With luxury, and death? What tho' his bowl Flames not with costly juice; nor sunk in beds, Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state? What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys, That still amuse the wanton, still deceive; A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain; Their hollow moments undelighted all? Sure peace is his; a solid life, estrang'd To disappointment, and fallacious hope: Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, In herbs and fruits: whatever greens the Spring, When