And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.
The Deserted Village. Line 263.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
The Deserted Village. Line 329.
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
The Deserted Village. Line 344.
In all the silent manliness of grief.