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CLASSICAL MODERN POETRY. 



HAPPINESS. 



ONE morning in the month of May, 



I wander' d o'er the hill ; 

 Tho' nature all around was gay, 



My heart was heavy still. 

 Can God, I thought, the just, the great, 



These meaner creatures bless, 

 And yet deny to man's estate 



The boon of happiness : 

 Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains, 



Ye blessed birds around, 

 In which of nature's wide domains 



Can bliss for man be found ? 

 The birds wild caroll'd over head, 



The breeze around me blew, 

 And nature's awful chorus said 



No bliss for man she knew. 



I question'd LOVE, whose early ray 



So rosy bright appears, 

 And heard the timid genius say, 



His lieht was dimm'd by tears. 



O * 



I question'd FRIENDSHIP: FRIENDSHIP sigh'd, 



And thus her answer gave : 

 The few whom fortune never turn'd 



"Were wither' d in the grave ! 



I ask'd if VICE could bliss bestow, 



VICE boasted loud and well j 

 But fading, from her wither'd brow, 



The borrow'd roses fell. 



