APT END IX. 
201 
In vain you search ; she is not there; 
In vain you search the domes of Care! 
Grass and flowers Quiet treads, 
On the meads and mountain-heads; 
Along with Pleasure, close allied, 
Ever by each other’s side.” 
But perhaps one of the best things of this kind 
is Cunningham’s Town and Country Child. He be¬ 
gins, — 
“ Child of the country! free as air 
Art thou, and as the sunshine fair; 
Born like the lily, where the dew 
Lies odorous when the day is new; 
Fed ’mid the May-flowers, like the bee; 
Nursed to sweet music on the knee; 
Lulled on the breast to that glad tune 
Which winds make ’mong the woods of June; 
I sing of thee; — ’tis sweet to sing 
Of such a fair and gladsome thing. 
Child of the town, for thee I sigh; 
A gilded roof’s thy golden sky, 
A carpet is thy daisied sod, 
A narrow street thy boundless road. 
* * * * 
Through smoke, and not through trellised vines 
And blooming trees, thy sunbeam shines; 
I sing of thee in sadness ; where 
Else is wreck wrought in aught so fair ? ” 
