CONTENTMENT.

Whilst I beneath this silent shade,
 Contented sit and sing,
 I envy not the great their joys,
 That from their riches spring. 

Let those who have in courts been bred,
 There still in splendor shine;
 Their lot of bliss may not surpass,
 Perhaps not equal mine,

While no unwelcome visitants,
 My solitude invade;
 The monarch is not more secure,
 Than I beneath this shade. 

These friendly trees on either side,
 From heat a shelter stand;
 The white rose on the brier hangs,
 And seems t' invite my hand. 

Ah! rose, no longer to my eyes
 Thy pow'rful charms display,
 For I've a sweeter flow'r than you,
 And one that looks more gay.