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Still, to ourselves, in every place consign’d,

Our own felicity we make, or find:

With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestick joy.

The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, To men remote from power, but rarely known,

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THE

DESERTED VILLAGE.

BY

OLIVER GOLD SMITH.

PRINTED IN

1769.

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