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And fringed with roses Tenglio[1] rolls his stream,
They draw the copious fry. With these, at eve,
They cheerful loaded to their tents repair;
Where, all day long in useful cares employ’d,
Their kind unblemish’d wives the fire prepare.
Thrice happy race! by poverty secur’d,
From legal plunder and rapacious pow’r:
In, whom fell interest never yet has sown
The seeds of vice: whose spotless swains ne’er knew
Injurious deed, nor, blasted by the breath
Of faithless love, their blooming daughters woe.
Thompson’s Winter.
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