How little of outward Good suffices for Happiness.

Give Love and honest Industry their way, Clear but the Sun-rise of Life's little day, Those we term poor shall oft that wealth obtain, For which th' ambitious sigh, but sigh in vain: Wealth that still brightens, as its stores increase; The calm of Conscience, and the reign of Peace. Walter's enamour'd Soul, from news like this, Now felt the dawnings of his future bliss; E'en as the Red-breast shelt'ring in a bower, Mourns the short darkness of a passing Shower, Then, while the azure sky extends around, Darts on a worm that breaks the moisten'd ground, And mounts the dripping fence, with joy elate, And shares the prize triumphant with his mate; So did the Youth;—the treasure straight became An humble servant to Love's sacred flame; Glorious subjection!—Thus his silence broke: Joy gave him words; still quick'ning as he spoke.