Энн Грант (Anne Grant)

Sonnet 3. DEAR, peaceful cottage! o'er whose humble thatch

DEAR, peaceful cottage! o'er whose humble thatch
The dewy moss has velvet verdure spread;
Once more, with trem'lous hands thy ready latch
I lift, and to thy lintel bow my head.
Dear are thy inmates! beauty's roseate smile,
And eye soft melting hail my wish'd return,--
Loud clamours infant joy: around meanwhile
Maturer breasts with silent rapture burn.
Within these narrow bounds I reign secure,
And duteous love and prompt obedience find:
Nor sigh to view my destiny obscure,
(Where all is lowly, but each owner's mind
Content), if pilgrims passing by our cell,
Say, "with her sister Peace there Virtue loves to dwell!"