![]() | Poems by John Godfrey Saxe. Complete in one volume : thirty-fifth edition | ![]() |
I.
Hurrah for the land where the moor and the mountainAre sparkling with treasures no language hath told,
Where the wave of the river and spray of the fountain
Are bright with the glitter of genuine gold!
Who cares for the pleasures and duties of home,
And all the refinements that grow in its bowers?
To the happy Dorado away we will roam,—
'T will be time to ‘refine’ when the metal is ours!
II.
Hurrah for the country where Mercury and MammonAre the rulers enthroned in the Capitol-seat;
Where Order is chaos, and Justice is gammon,
And yet there 's no Bacon to read or to eat!
Let Famine stalk gaunt and ungainly around,
So thin that his features you scarce can behold,—
Who 'd live upon bread at an ounce for a pound?
Or exchange for potatoes his carats of gold?
III.
Hurrah for the country where Ceres and HymenAre driven abashed from the bountiful soil,
And Music 's unheard, save the musical chiming
Of pickaxe and pan in the clatter of toil.
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Or would seek for a single philosopher's stone,
When out of the heaps of auriferous ore
He can fill up his pockets with ‘rocks’ of his own?
IV.
Hurrah for the country where Plutus is chief,And where, for a wonder especially odd,
His worshippers freely avow their belief,
And are never ashamed to acknowledge their god!
Where the currency 's ruled by a natural law,
And Biddles and Barings are voted no thanks,—
Where, in spite of the heavy, perpetual draw,
There 's always abundance of gold in the Banks!
V.
If a brother, seduced by our precious estate,And mad with the frenzy that lucre inspires,
Should hit us, some day, on the back of the pate,
With a heartier thump than affection requires,
And our bodies be hid in the glittering dust,—
What matters the incident? why should we care?
To die very rich is the national lust,
To be ‘buried in gold’ is the popular prayer!
VI.
Then away with all doubting and fanciful ills,Away with impressions that duty would print,
The Pactolian drops that affection distils
Can never be coined into drops of the mint!
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Are sparkling with treasures no tongue can unfold,
Where the wave of the river and spray of the fountain
Are bright with the glitter of genuine gold!
![]() | Poems by John Godfrey Saxe. Complete in one volume : thirty-fifth edition | ![]() |