Sonnet Upon a Swedish Cottage

John Carr

Here, far from all the pomp ambition seeks,
Much sought, but only whilst untasted praised,
Content and innocence, with rosy cheeks,
Enjoy the simple shed their hands have raised.

On a grey rock it stands, whose fretted base
The distant cataract’s murmuring waters lave,
Whilst over its mossy roof, with varying grace,
The slender branches of the white birch wave.

Around the forest-fir is heard to sigh,
On which the pensive ear delights to dwell,
Whilst, as the gazing traveller passes by,
The grey goat, starting, sounds his tinkling bell.

Oh! in my native land, ere life’s decline,
May such a spot, so wild, so sweet, be mine!