1 Let others boast their heaps of shining gold, And view their fields, with waving plenty crowned, Whom neighbouring foes in constant terror hold, And trumpets break their slumbers, never sound: 2 While calmly poor I trifle life away, Enjoy sweet leisure by my cheerful fire, No wanton hope my quiet shall betray, But, cheaply blessed, I'll scorn each vain desire. 3 With timely care I'll sow my little field, And plant my orchard with its master's hand, Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, Or range my sheaves along the sunny land. 4 If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam, I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb, Under my arm I'll bring the wanderer home, And not a little chide its thoughtless dam. 5 What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain, And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast! Or, lulled to slumber by the beating rain, Secure and happy, sink at last to rest! 6 Or, if the sun in flaming Leo ride, By shady rivers indolently stray, And with my Delia, walking side by side, Hear how they murmur as they glide away! 7 What joy to wind along the cool retreat, To stop and gaze on Delia as I go! To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet, And teach my lovely scholar all I know! 8 Thus pleased at heart, and not with fancy's dream, In silent happiness I rest unknown; Content with what I am, not what I seem, I live for Delia and myself alone. * * * * * 9 Hers be the care of all my little train, While I with tender indolence am blest, The favourite subject of her gentle reign, By love alone distinguished from the rest. 10 For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plough, In gloomy forests tend my lonely flock; For her, a goat-herd, climb the mountain's brow, And sleep extended on the naked rock: 11 Ah, what avails to press the stately bed, And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep, By marble fountains lay the pensive head, And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep! 12 Delia alone can please, and never tire, Exceed the paint of thought in true delight; With her, enjoyment wakens new desire, And equal rapture glows through every night: 13 Beauty and worth in her alike contend, To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind; In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend, I taste the joys of sense and reason joined. 14 On her I'll gaze, when others' loves are o'er, And dying press her with my clay-cold hand-- Thou weep'st already, as I were no more, Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand. 15 Oh, when I die, my latest moments spare, Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill, Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair, Though I am dead, my soul shall love thee still: 16 Oh, quit the room, oh, quit the deathful bed, Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy heart; Oh, leave me, Delia, ere thou see me dead, These weeping friends will do thy mournful part: