A table of celestial food divine,
Ambrosial fruits, fetched from the tree of life,
And from the fount of life ambrosial drink.
Milton.
Abused mortals! did you know
Where joy, heart’s-ease, and comforts grow,
You’d scorn proud towers,
And seek them in these bowers,
Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake,
But blustering care could never tempest make,