 | Poems, chiefly occasional, by the late Mr. Cliffton |  |
IL PENSEROSO.
I hate this soungy world, with all its store,
This bustling, noisy, nothingness of life,
This treacherous herd of friends with hollow core,
This vale of sorrow, and this field of strife.
This bustling, noisy, nothingness of life,
This treacherous herd of friends with hollow core,
This vale of sorrow, and this field of strife.
Me, shall some little tranquil thatch receive,
Some settled low content, remote from care,
There will I pipe away the sober eve,
And laugh all day at Lady Fortune there.
Some settled low content, remote from care,
There will I pipe away the sober eve,
And laugh all day at Lady Fortune there.
Why should I mingle in the mazy ring
Of drunken folly at the shrine of chance?
Where insect pleasure flits on burnished wing,
Eludes our wishes, and keeps up the dance;
Of drunken folly at the shrine of chance?
Where insect pleasure flits on burnished wing,
Eludes our wishes, and keeps up the dance;
95
When in the quiet of an humble home,
Beside the fountain, or upon the hill,
Where strife and care and sorrow never come,
I may be free and happy, if I will.
Beside the fountain, or upon the hill,
Where strife and care and sorrow never come,
I may be free and happy, if I will.
| Poems, chiefly occasional, by the late Mr. Cliffton | |