Good, pleasure, ease, content, whate'er thy name:
That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die;
Say in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow?
'Tis no where to be found, or every where.
Why, then, is happiness so rare? Because ere it can be possessed, every virtue must be ours and we must be wise withal, gentle, patient, lowly, meek; nor at the idle suggestions of vanity, immolate life's realities on the imaginary altars of Pride.
Virtue, alone, is happiness below.