FROM THE SAME .

Bliss is so brief and fragile, it departs
Ere pomp and pride can to its level bow:
Beloved! happiness, like ours, cold hearts
And proud unbending spirits never know.

Life's dearest joys, like sweetest-scented flowers,
Bloom best in lowly places; there they group
In safety, there they court the smiling hours;
And they who wish to gather them must stoop .