He's not the happy man, to whom is given br A plenteous fortune by indulgent Heaven; br Whose gilded roofs on shining columns rise, br And painted walls enchant the gazer's eyes; br Whose table flows with hospitable cheer, br And all the various bounty of the year; br Whose valleys smile, whose gardens breathe the spring, br Whose curved mountains bleat, and forests sing; br For whom the cooling shade in summer twines, br While his full cellars give their generous wines; br From whose wide fields unbounded autumn pours br A golden tide into his swelling stores; br Whose winter laughs; for whom the liberal gales br Stretch the big sheet, and toiling commerce sails; br Whom yielding crowds attend, and pleasure serves; br While youth, and health, and vigour string his nerves. br E'en not all these, in one rich lot combined, br Can make the happy man, without the mind; br Where judgment sits clear-sighted, and surveys br The chain of reason with unerring gaze; br Where fancy lives, and to the brightening eyes, br Her fairer scenes, and bolder figures rise; br Where social love exerts her soft command, br And lays the passions with a tender hand, br Whence every virtue flows, in rival strife, br And all the moral harmony of life. br Nor canst thou, Dodington, this truth decline: br Thine is the fortune, and the mind is thine.