Classic Poem

When War with its bellowing Sound
Pervades each once happy retreat,
And Friendship no longer is found
With those who her praises repeat;
The good from the crowd may retire,
And follow sweet Peace to the Grove
Where Virtue rekindles her fire,
And raises an altar to Love.

There blest with a sociable few —
The few that are just and sincere —
We bid the ambitious adieu,
And drop them, in pity, a tear.
We grieve at the fury and rage
Which burn in the breasts of our foes,
We fain would that fury assuage;
We dare not that fury oppose.

With Peace and simplicity blest,
No troubles our pleasures annoy:
We quaff the pure stream with a zest
The temp'rate alone can enjoy.
Thus innocent, chearful and gay
The swift-fleeting moments secure:
An age would seem short as a day
With pleasures as simple and pure.