TO DOMESTIC PEACE.
287
Sweet Peace! thou wert not much to blame,
If thou shouldst loathe the very name
Of Clinton, or of John Targee.
For us, enthroned in elbow-chair,
Thy foes alone with ink we sprinkle;
We love to smooth the cheek of care,
Until we leave no furrow there,
Save laughter’s evanescent wrinkle.
With thee and mirth, we’ll quit the throng—
Each hour shall see our pleasures vary;
Jarvis shall bring his Cats along,
And Lynch shall float in floods of song
Pure as his highest-priced Madeira!
D.
