LINES WRITTEN IN A COTTAGE BY THE SEA-SIDE

‘ Twas on a night of wildest storms,

When loudly roar'd the raving main,—

When dark clouds shew'd their shapeless forms,

And hail beat hard the cottage pane,—

Tom Fool sat by the chimney-side,

With open mouth and staring eyes;

A batter'd broom was all his pride,—

It was his wife, his child, his prize!

Alike to him if tempests howl,

Or summer beam its sweetest day;

For still is pleas'd the silly soul,

And still he laughs the hours away.

Alas! I could not stop the sigh,

To see him thus so wildly stare,—

To mark, in ruins, Reason lie,

Callous alike to joy and care.

God bless thee, thoughtless soul! I cried;

Yet are thy wants but very few:

The world's hard scenes thou ne'er hast tried;

Its cares and crimes to thee are new.

The hoary hag , who cross'd thee so,

Did not unkindly vex thy brain;

Indeed she could not be thy foe,

To snatch thee thus from grief and pain.

Deceit shall never wring thy heart,

And baffled hope awake no sighs;

And true love, harshly forc'd to part,

Shall never swell with tears thine eyes.

Then long enjoy thy batter'd broom,

Poor merry fool! and laugh away

‘ Till Fate shall bid thy reason bloom

In blissful scenes of brighter day.