Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume XII, Issue 511, 23 September 1867, Page 1

Select Poetry.

MT lIO3IE IX THE BUSH. I’ve a home, iu the bush, and though humbie it be. It is prized more than any old castle so grand; There is something about it so charming to me, That 1 love it beyond either houses or laud. It is there that my heart in its fondness will cling. It is there that my spirit will brood like the dove. Though the wealthy may think its a mean looking thing, ’Tis the home of Content and the dwelling of Love. Ne’er a monarch enthroned in his splendor and pride. By his minions sunounded so happy can be; lie may sigh to possess all the world, though its wide, But my home is far more than tiie world is to me! Up ambition’s long ladder, if he choose he may climb, Let him leave us behind, and look down on us aU; But methiuks it is madness to waste thus his time, For the day it may come to the bottom he’ll fall. In the palace how seldom is happiness found, In its courts love appears a disconsolate guest. For, with Peace, they prefer to live close to tbe ground, To the cottage the cliug, for they like it tbe best. In my home in the bush all these blessings I’ve got, For the riches of Croesus I’d never resign; There’s a sweet little wife, too, iu charge of mv cot, And how happy I feel, when I think she is mine. What is wealth if the heart is a sorrowful Jiing What are titles and fame, to a soul ill at ease? There's a thorn iu the crown that is worn by the kit\£. And your gold it will vanish if dame fortune it please. I’ve a notion that, since I’m content with mv lot, Though I toil like a slave e’en from morning till night.. I’m the happiest of men, in my weatherboard cot, Though my path it is rough, and my purse it is light. —Canterbury Times.