Yet ere he pass'd, with much ado He guess'd and spell'd out, Sci-pi-o. "Enough, he cry'd; I'll drudge no more, "In turning the dull Stoics o'er: "Let pedants waste their hours of ease "To sweat all night at Socrates; "And feed their boys with notes and rules, "Those tedious Recipes of Schools "To cure ambition: I can learn "With greater ease the great concern "Of mortals; how we may despise "All the gay things below the skies. "Methinks a mould'ring pyramid Says all that the old sages said: "For me, these shatter'd tombs contain "More morals than the Vatican. "The dust of heroes cast abroad, "And kick'd and trampled in the road, "That lately wars and crowns design'd, "The tow'ring height and frightful falls, "Of smoking kingdoms and their kings, "That living could not bear to see "Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, "And my good Seneca may keep "Your volumes clos'd for ever too, "I have no further use for you: "For when I feel my virtue fail, "And my ambitious thoughts prevail; "I'll take a turn among the tombs. "And see whereto all glory comes "There the vile foot of ev'ry slave, Insults a Charles or a Gustave: "And tread the Caesars in the dirt." } TRUE RICHES. WATTS. I AM not concern'd to know Heir to the best part of me. Glitt'ring stones and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever flutt'ring to be gone, I've a mighty part within That the world hath never seen, Rich as Eden's happy ground, Fruits refin'd of noble taste; Both rejoice when there we meet. There are endless beauties more Earth hath no resemblance for; Nothing like them round the pole, Nothing can describe the soul; 'Tis a region half unknown, That has treasures of its own, More remote from public view Harts or horses, strong and fleet, Yet the silly wand'ring mind, Loth to be too much confin'd, Roves and takes her daily tours, Coasting round the narrow shores, Narrow shores of flesh and sense, Picking shells and pebbles thence; Or she sits at Fancy's door, Calling shapes and shadows to her, Foreign visits still receiving, And t' herself a stranger living. Never, never would she buy Indian dust or Tyrian dye, Never trade abroad for more, If she saw her native store, If her inward worth were known, She might ever live alone. |