 | [The bower of content, in] The Atlantic souvenir |  |
164
THE BOWER OF CONTENT.
In a vale far sequester'd from tumult and noise,
Content rear'd a lonely bower,
She fashion'd it fair as the visions of joys
That glow in life's morning hour,
And she said, “the pure fancies and feelings of youth
Here are fix'd by my potent spell,
And none but the heart that loves nature and truth
In this holy bower may dwell.”
Content rear'd a lonely bower,
She fashion'd it fair as the visions of joys
That glow in life's morning hour,
And she said, “the pure fancies and feelings of youth
Here are fix'd by my potent spell,
And none but the heart that loves nature and truth
In this holy bower may dwell.”
Ere she ceased, a proud chariot roll'd slowly along,
Down the narrow and winding road,
The rich man hath come from the world's giddy throng
To rest in that lowly abode;
But where fashion and flattery blend not their art,
Will Content bless the wealthy and vain?
Will he welcome the calm and commune with his heart?
He hath gone to the world again.
Down the narrow and winding road,
The rich man hath come from the world's giddy throng
To rest in that lowly abode;
But where fashion and flattery blend not their art,
Will Content bless the wealthy and vain?
Will he welcome the calm and commune with his heart?
He hath gone to the world again.
Then poverty's victim came hastily on,
Repining had furrowed his face,
And he sigh'd while he said, “all temptation to shun,
He must dwell in that lonely place.”
But the half-hidden roses attract not his eye,
As it roams o'er the fair domain;
O, see!—doth not Hope's meteor flash gild the sky?
He hath gone to the world again.
Repining had furrowed his face,
And he sigh'd while he said, “all temptation to shun,
He must dwell in that lonely place.”
But the half-hidden roses attract not his eye,
As it roams o'er the fair domain;
O, see!—doth not Hope's meteor flash gild the sky?
He hath gone to the world again.
165
Then slow, with a frown dark as hate on his brow,
Sad and solemn the devotee came,
Yet he speaks of the love that the heavens could bow,
Of the joys that religion may claim—
Of the vile barren earth—of the glories above—
Of his hope—but none echo the strain—
Men hear not the prayers pour'd in grotto and grove,
He hath gone to the world again.
Sad and solemn the devotee came,
Yet he speaks of the love that the heavens could bow,
Of the joys that religion may claim—
Of the vile barren earth—of the glories above—
Of his hope—but none echo the strain—
Men hear not the prayers pour'd in grotto and grove,
He hath gone to the world again.
And the bower of Content is all blooming and gay,
But the slaves of the world heed it not,
They may pause at the threshold, but never will stay
To examine the lone, lovely spot,
Where the days glide as noiseless as angels draw near
The couch where the good repose;
And joy hath no tumult, and sorrow's meek tear
From passion all purified flows.
But the slaves of the world heed it not,
They may pause at the threshold, but never will stay
To examine the lone, lovely spot,
Where the days glide as noiseless as angels draw near
The couch where the good repose;
And joy hath no tumult, and sorrow's meek tear
From passion all purified flows.
Hark! a breathing of music is borne on the air,
As soft as the south wind's sigh,
When it hastens the summer's pure dew-drop to bear
Where beds of sweet violets lie;
'Tis the song of Content, and at morning and even,
Go list to her soothing strain,
“Bring a book, and a lyre, and a heart bow'd to heaven,
And the world cannot lure thee again.”
As soft as the south wind's sigh,
When it hastens the summer's pure dew-drop to bear
Where beds of sweet violets lie;
'Tis the song of Content, and at morning and even,
Go list to her soothing strain,
“Bring a book, and a lyre, and a heart bow'd to heaven,
And the world cannot lure thee again.”
| [The bower of content, in] The Atlantic souvenir | |