King Alfred's Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oh! it is a fault of weight,
Let him think it out who will,
And a danger passing great
Which can thus allure to ill
Careworn men from the right way,
Swiftly ever led astray.

Will ye seek within the wood
Red gold on the green-trees tall?
None, I wot, is wise that could,
For it grows not there at all:
Neither in winegardens green
Seek they gems of glittering sheen.

Would ye on some hill-top set,
When ye list to catch a trout
Or a carp, your fishing-net?
Men, methinks, have long found out
That it would be foolish fare,
For they know they are not there.

In the salt sea can ye find,
When ye list to start and hunt
With your hounds, the hart or hind?
It will sooner be your wont
In the woods to look, I wot,
Than in seas where they are not.

Is it wonderful to know
That for crystals red or white
One must to the sea-beach go,
Or for other colours bright,
Seeking by the riverside
Or the shore at ebb of tide?

Likewise, men are well aware
Where to look for river-fish,
And all other worldly ware
Where to seek them when they wish;
Wisely careful men will know
Year by year to find them so.

But of all things 'tis most sad
That the foolish are so blind,
So besotted and so mad
That they cannot surely find
Where the ever-good is nigh
And true pleasures hidden lie.

Therefore, never is their strife
After those true joys to spur;
In this lean and little life
They half witted deeply err,
Seeking here their bliss to gain,
That is, God Himself, in vain.

Ah! I know not in my thought
How enough to blame their sin,
Nor so clearly as I ought
Can I show their fault within;
For, more bad and vain are they
And more sad than I can say.

All their hope is to acquire
Worship, goods, and worldly weal;
When they have their mind's desire
Then such witless Joy they feel,
That in folly they believe
Those True joys they then receive.