The
ARBOUR
:
An
ODE
to
CONTENTMENT
.
By
Mr.
THOMAS
COLE
.
TO
these
lone
shades
,
where
Peace
delights
to
dwell
,
May
Fortune
oft
permit
me
to
retreat
;
Here
bid
the
world
,
with
all
its
cares
,
farewel
,
And
leave
its
pleasures
to
the
rich
and
great
.
Oft
as
the
summer's
sun
shall
cheer
this
scene
,
With
that
mild
gleam
which
points
his
parting
ray
,
Here
let
my
soul
enjoy
each
eve
serene
,
Here
share
its
calm
,
'till
life's
declining
day
.
No
gladsome
image
then
should
'scape
my
sight
,
From
these
gay
flow'rs
,
which
border
near
my
eye
,
To
yon
bright
cloud
,
that
decks
,
with
richest
light
,
The
gilded
mantle
of
the
western
sky
.
With
ample
gaze
,
I'd
trace
that
ridge
remote
,
Where
op'ning
cliffs
disclose
the
boundless
main
;
With
earnest
ken
,
from
each
low
hamlet
note
The
steeple's
summit
peeping
o'er
the
plain
.
What
various
works
that
rural
landscape
fill
,
Where
mingling
hedge-rows
beauteous
fields
inclose
;
And
prudent
Culture
,
with
industrious
skill
,
Her
chequer'd
scene
of
crops
and
fallows
shows
?
How
should
I
love
to
mark
that
riv'let's
maze
,
Through
which
it
works
its
untaught
course
along
;
Whilst
near
its
grassy
banks
the
herd
shall
graze
,
And
blithsome
milkmaid
chaunt
her
thoughtless
song
?
Still
would
I
note
the
shades
of
length'ning
sheep
,
As
scatter'd
o'er
the
hill's
slant
brow
they
rove
;
Still
note
the
day's
last
glimm'ring
lustre
creep
From
off
the
verge
of
yonder
upland
grove
.
Nor
should
my
leisure
seldom
wait
to
view
The
slow-wing'd
rooks
in
homeward
train
succeed
;
Nor
yet
forbear
the
swallow
to
pursue
,
With
quicker
glance
,
close
skimming
o'er
the
mead
.
But
mostly
here
should
I
delight
t'
explore
The
bounteous
laws
of
Nature's
mystic
pow'r
;
Then
muse
on
him
who
blesseth
all
her
store
,
And
give
to
solemn
thoughts
the
sober
hour
.
Let
Mirth
unenvy'd
laugh
with
proud
disdain
,
And
deem
it
spleen
one
moment
thus
to
waste
;
If
so
she
keep
far
hence
her
noisy
train
,
Nor
interrupt
those
joys
she
cannot
taste
.
Far
sweeter
streams
shall
flow
from
Wisdom's
spring
,
Than
she
receives
from
Folly's
costliest
bowl
;
And
what
delights
can
her
chief
dainties
bring
,
Like
those
which
feast
the
heavenly-pensive
soul
?
Hail
Silence
then
!
be
thou
my
frequent
guest
;
For
thou
art
wont
my
gratitude
to
raise
,
As
high
as
wonder
can
the
theme
suggest
,
Whene'er
I
meditate
my
Maker's
praise
.
What
joy
for
tutor'd
Piety
to
learn
,
All
that
my
christian
solitude
can
teach
,
Where
weak-ey'd
Reason's
self
may
well
discern
Each
clearer
truth
the
gospel
deigns
to
preach
?
No
object
here
but
may
convince
the
mind
,
Of
more
than
thoughtful
honesty
shall
need
;
Nor
can
Suspense
long
question
here
to
find
Sufficient
evidence
to
fix
its
creed
.
'Tis
God
that
gives
this
bow'r
its
aweful
gloom
;
His
arched
verdure
does
its
roof
invest
;
He
breathes
the
life
of
fragrance
on
its
bloom
;
And
with
his
kindness
makes
its
owner
blest
.
Oh
!
may
the
guidance
of
thy
grace
attend
The
use
of
all
thy
bounty
shall
bestow
;
Lest
folly
should
mistake
its
sacred
end
,
Or
vice
convert
it
into
means
of
woe
.
Incline
and
aid
me
still
my
life
to
steer
,
As
conscience
dictates
what
to
shun
or
chuse
;
Nor
let
my
heart
feel
anxious
hope
or
fear
,
For
aught
this
world
can
give
me
or
refuse
.
Then
shall
not
wealth's
parade
one
wish
excite
,
For
wretched
state
to
barter
peace
away
;
Nor
vain
ambition's
lure
my
pride
invite
,
Beyond
Contentment's
humble
path
to
stray
.
What
tho'
thy
wisdom
may
my
lot
deny
,
The
treasur'd
plenty
freely
to
dispense
;
Yet
well
thy
goodness
can
that
want
supply
With
larger
portions
of
benevolence
.
And
sure
the
heart
that
wills
the
gen'rous
deed
,
May
all
the
joys
of
Charity
command
;
For
she
best
loves
from
notice
to
recede
,
And
deals
her
unsought
gifts
with
secret
hand
.
Then
will
I
sometimes
bid
my
fancy
steal
,
That
unclaim'd
wealth
no
property
restrains
;
Soothe
with
fictitious
aid
my
friendly
zeal
,
And
realize
each
godly
act
she
feigns
.
So
shall
I
gain
the
gold
without
alloy
;
Without
oppression
,
toil
,
or
treach'rous
snares
;
So
shall
I
know
its
use
,
its
pow'r
employ
,
And
yet
avoid
its
dangers
and
its
cares
.
And
spite
of
all
that
boastful
wealth
can
do
,
In
vain
would
Fortune
strive
the
rich
to
bless
,
Were
they
not
flatter'd
with
some
distant
view
Of
what
she
ne'er
can
give
them
to
possess
.
E'en
Wisdom's
high
conceit
great
wants
would
feel
,
If
not
supply'd
from
Fancy's
boundless
store
;
And
nought
but
shame
makes
pow'r
itself
conceal
,
That
she
,
to
satisfy
,
must
promise
more
.
But
tho'
experience
will
not
fail
to
show
,
Howe'er
its
truth
man's
weakness
may
upbraid
,
That
what
he
mostly
values
here
below
,
Owes
half
its
relish
to
kind
Fancy's
aid
;
Yet
should
not
Prudence
her
light
wing
command
,
She
may
too
far
extend
her
heedless
flight
;
For
Pleasure
soon
shall
quit
her
fairy-land
If
Nature's
regions
are
not
held
in
sight
.
From
Truth's
abode
,
in
search
of
kind
deceit
,
Within
due
limits
she
may
safely
roam
;
If
roving
does
not
make
her
hate
retreat
,
And
with
aversion
shun
her
proper
home
.
But
thanks
to
those
,
whose
fond
parental
care
To
Learning's
paths
my
youthful
steps
confin'd
,
I
need
not
shun
a
state
which
lets
me
share
Each
calm
delight
that
soothes
the
studious
mind
.
While
genius
lasts
,
his
fame
shall
ne'er
decay
,
Whose
artful
hand
first
caus'd
its
fruits
to
spread
;
In
lasting
volumes
stampt
the
printed
lay
,
And
taught
the
Muses
to
embalm
the
dead
.
To
him
I
owe
each
fair
instructive
page
,
Where
Science
tells
me
what
her
sons
have
known
;
Collects
their
choicest
works
from
ev'ry
age
,
And
makes
me
wise
with
knowledge
not
my
own
.
Books
rightly
us'd
may
ev'ry
state
secure
:
From
fortune's
evils
may
our
peace
defend
;
May
teach
us
how
to
shun
,
or
to
endure
,
The
foe
malignant
,
and
the
faithless
friend
.
Should
rigid
Want
withdraw
all
outward
aid
,
Kind
stores
of
inward
comfort
they
can
bring
;
Should
keen
Disease
life's
tainted
stream
invade
,
Sweet
to
the
soul
from
them
pure
health
may
spring
.
Should
both
at
once
man's
weakly
frame
infest
,
Some
letter'd
charm
may
still
relief
supply
;
'Gainst
all
events
prepare
his
patient
breast
,
And
make
him
quite
resign'd
to
live
,
or
die
.
For
tho'
no
words
can
time
or
fate
restrain
;
No
sounds
suppress
the
call
of
Nature's
voice
;
Tho'
neither
rhymes
,
nor
spells
,
can
conquer
pain
,
Nor
magic's
self
make
wretchedness
our
choice
,
Yet
reason
,
while
it
forms
the
subtile
plan
,
Some
purer
source
of
pleasure
to
explore
,
Must
deem
it
vain
for
that
poor
pilgrim
,
man
,
To
think
of
resting
'till
his
journey's
o'er
;
Must
deem
each
fruitless
toil
,
by
heav'n
design'd
To
teach
him
where
to
look
for
real
bliss
;
Else
why
should
heav'n
excite
the
hope
to
find
What
balk'd
pursuit
must
here
for
ever
miss
?