University of Virginia Library


124

SONNET.

[O Gold! thou pois'nous dross, whose subtile pow'r]

O Gold! thou pois'nous dross, whose subtile pow'r
Can change men's souls, or captive take the will;
Thou, whose fell potency can save or kill,
Illume or darken life's precarious hour.
Thou tipp'st the leaves of fancy's fairest flow'r
With glitt'ring drops: it feels the numbing spell
Creep through each fibre slow; while ev'ry ill
Of sordid mis'ry blossoms to devour.
The bland and lustrous morn of mental grace
Thy touch contaminates: thy sev'ring force
Breaks friendship's charm; bids honour's wreath decay;
Tears the pure blush of love from beauty's face;
Arms bold oppression in her ruthless course:
While the wide groaning world feels thy destructive sway.