Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | VIII. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
VIII.
No more, sweet Muse, o'er Asian shores
With thee I long to wander;
Great Persia now, and all her stores,
Belong to Alexander.
With thee I long to wander;
Great Persia now, and all her stores,
Belong to Alexander.
I envy not such hard-earn'd treasure,
Nor yet to forfeit life for pleasure;
But grant me Peace, and I'll consent
With Poverty to live content.
Let kings for crowns, indignant, war;
Let merchants search for wealth afar;
Let statesmen wrangle and debate;
Give titles to the rich and great;
For me, no other boon I crave,
While I on earth a being have,
But freedom from internal strife—
A competence to keep in life,—
The rest I have from nature free,
Else, Fancy, they belong to thee;
Thy roamings, amidst daily toil,
Can summer's longest day beguile:
Can, while the sun doth vertic beam,
Me stretch beside the cooling stream;
Or, while the world lies clad in snow,
Recall can July's genial glow;
Can change the harsh ear-grating drum
To nurse's sleep-invoking hum;
The thunder rolling through the sky
Sweet as the infant's lullaby!
Nor yet to forfeit life for pleasure;
But grant me Peace, and I'll consent
With Poverty to live content.
Let kings for crowns, indignant, war;
Let merchants search for wealth afar;
326
Give titles to the rich and great;
For me, no other boon I crave,
While I on earth a being have,
But freedom from internal strife—
A competence to keep in life,—
The rest I have from nature free,
Else, Fancy, they belong to thee;
Thy roamings, amidst daily toil,
Can summer's longest day beguile:
Can, while the sun doth vertic beam,
Me stretch beside the cooling stream;
Or, while the world lies clad in snow,
Recall can July's genial glow;
Can change the harsh ear-grating drum
To nurse's sleep-invoking hum;
The thunder rolling through the sky
Sweet as the infant's lullaby!
Let envy throw her barbed shafts,
To gain the field of fame,
Give me but fancy's halcyon draughts,
Though none should know my name.
To gain the field of fame,
Give me but fancy's halcyon draughts,
Though none should know my name.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |