Not Love, Not War, Nor The Tumultuous Swell, Of Civil Conflict, Nor The Wrecks Of Change, Nor Duty Struggling With Afflictions Strange Not These 'Alone' Inspire The Tuneful Shell; But Where Untroubled Peace And Concord Dwell, There Also Is The Muse Not Loth To Range, Watching The Twilight Smoke Of Cot Or Grange, Skyward Ascending From A Woody Dell. Meek Aspirations Please Her, Lone Endeavour, And Sage Content, And Placid Melancholy; She Loves To Gaze Upon A Crystal River Diaphanous Because It Travels Slowly; Soft Is The Music That Would Charm For Ever; The Flower Of Sweetest Smell Is Shy And Lowly.