These simple blessings of the lowly train:
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o me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. [Illustration: 0066] But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toilsome pleasure sickens into pain; {034} And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy? Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand
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