Excerpt from The Scenery and Antiquities of Ireland, Vol. 2: Illustrated From Drawings by W. H. Bartlett
Fly from our country pastimes, fly, Sad troop of human misery! Come serene looks, Clear as the crystal brooks, Or the pure azured heaven that smiles to see The rich attendance of our poverty. Peace, and a secure mind, Which all men seek, we only find.
Abused mortals, did you know Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, You'd scorn proud towers, And seek them in these bowers, Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes But blustering care could never tempest make, Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, Saving Of fountains that glide by us.
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