PEACE. 



Oh ! seek her not in marble halls of pride, 

 Where gushing fountains fling their silver tide, 



Their wealth of freshness, to the summer sky ; 

 The echoes of a palace are too loud, 

 They but give back the footsteps of the crowd 



That throng about some idol throned on high, 

 Whose ermined robe, and pomp of rich array 

 But serve to hide the false one's feet of clay. 



Look not for her in poverty's low vale, 



Where, touched by want, the bright cheek waxes pale, 



And the heart faints with sordid cares oppress'd, 

 Where pining discontent has left its trace 

 Deep and abiding, in each haggard face ; 



Not there, — not there Peace builds her halcyon nest : 

 Wild revel scares her from wealth's towering dome, 

 And misery frights her from a lowly home. 



Nor dwells she in the cloister, where the sage 

 Ponders the mystery of some time-stained page, 

 Delving with feeble hand the classic mine ; 



