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THE FIRE-SIDE.

Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd, The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

In folly's maze advance; Tho' singularity and ride Be call’d our choice, we'll step aside;

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world, we'll oft retire To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs No noisy neighbour enters here, No intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heart-felt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewellies;

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And they are fools who roam : The world has nothing to bestow; From our own

own selves our joy's must flow, And that dear hut, our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more

Explor'd the sacred bark.

Tho' fools-spurn Hymen's gențle pow'rs,
We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good,

A paradise below.

Our babes 'shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right they'll prove a' spring
Whence pleasures ever risę:

Lool.gi garsi 100 zi obieq 10 We'll form their minds, with studious care,

5:19#cb168 astusid To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours'engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,

And crown our hoary hairs ;
They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day,

il And thus our fondest loves repay,

And recompense our cares.

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No borrow'd! joys they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,

Or by the world forgot :
Monarchs! we envy not your state;

We look with pity on the great,

And bless..our humbler lot.

Our portion is not large indeed!
But then how little do we need !

For nature's calls are few :

In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,

And make that little.do.

We'll therefore relish with content, What e'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our pow'r: For, if our stock be very small, 'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present bour.

To be resign’d, when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,

And pleas'd with favours giv'n:
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part;
This is that incense of the heart,

Whose fragrance smells to heav'n.

We'll ask no long protracted treat,
Since winter-life is seldom sweet ;

But, when our feast is o'er, Grateful from table we'll arise, Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,

The relics of our store.

Thus, hand in hand, thro' life we'll go;
Its chequer'd paths of joy and woe,

With cautious steps we'll tread;

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