FAR from his humble happy home,
Ambition taught his steps to roam,
He leaves his cot o'erspread with vine,
Where oft, in peace, at day's decline;
His humble partner with a smile
Would welcome him from daily toil,
His children then with mirth and glee
Would cling delighted to his knee:
The love that in their eyes would beam
Made that poor cot a palace seem,
Contented still with humble fare;
Enough he had, but nought to spare,
Sweet peace dwelt ever in his home,
He ne'er had felt a wish to roam.
Until ambition sought his door
And whispered, "Why remain thus poor,
Why toil from morn till setting sun;
And even then, thy task not done.
Why seek to till such humble store—
An acre and a half, not more.
When thou, by half this toil and care,
Broad lands, and peace, and wealth may share. Hie to the West! where plenty smiles
And reign a monarch of the wilds."
Fired with the thought, contentment fled,
And peace, no longer sought his shed,