The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
362
ELEGY.
[Blest were the days when gold was yet unknown]
He mourns at the Discovery of Gold, as a Demon of Destruction, expresses modest Wishes, and pays a small but just Tribute of Applause to our amiable Princesses.
Blest were the days when gold was yet unknown;
The man who drew it from the secret earth,
Forc'd from its bosom an eternal groan,
And, luckless, gave a fatal demon birth.
The man who drew it from the secret earth,
Forc'd from its bosom an eternal groan,
And, luckless, gave a fatal demon birth.
The burning soil of Afric I have trod,
And seen the shining mischief in the sands—
Then, sighing, said, ‘Behold the world's vain God,
Our Baal, that rank idolatry commands!’
And seen the shining mischief in the sands—
Then, sighing, said, ‘Behold the world's vain God,
Our Baal, that rank idolatry commands!’
And golden Mexico these eyes have seen,
And from the splendid wonder turn'd aside,
Where Vanity extends her boundless reign,
And loads the shrines of Luxury and Pride.
And from the splendid wonder turn'd aside,
Where Vanity extends her boundless reign,
And loads the shrines of Luxury and Pride.
I sigh not for a waggon load of gold;
For wild Ambition never fir'd my wishes;
Some modest little place I hope to hold,
And taste a morsel of the loaves and fishes.
For wild Ambition never fir'd my wishes;
Some modest little place I hope to hold,
And taste a morsel of the loaves and fishes.
Who court the glittering gems of Fortune's mine,
Court frequent ruin—thus upon the thorn,
The spider spins by night his silken line,
That catch, and break beneath the drops of morn.
Court frequent ruin—thus upon the thorn,
The spider spins by night his silken line,
That catch, and break beneath the drops of morn.
363
I hate not courts, and all that courts contain,
A thousand beauties may to courts belong;
Lo! George's daughters have inspir'd my strain,
Sweet subjects also of some future song.
A thousand beauties may to courts belong;
Lo! George's daughters have inspir'd my strain,
Sweet subjects also of some future song.
I mark not Grandeur with an envious eye;
But, when those nymphs of merit I behold,
I own I see their virtues with a sigh,
And envy them their goodness, not their gold.
But, when those nymphs of merit I behold,
I own I see their virtues with a sigh,
And envy them their goodness, not their gold.
A bleating lamb, for verdant hill and vale,
Alas! I wish to leave my barren rock!
A cooing dove, that tells his plaintive tale,
To build a nest amid the great state oak.
Alas! I wish to leave my barren rock!
A cooing dove, that tells his plaintive tale,
To build a nest amid the great state oak.
Or ev'n a spider on the cloud-capp'd tree,
I wish to weave, for wand'ring flies my net;
Nay, a poor pismire—smaller can I be?
Run on its ribs, and pick my daily meat.
I wish to weave, for wand'ring flies my net;
Nay, a poor pismire—smaller can I be?
Run on its ribs, and pick my daily meat.
I never wish'd to pull a monarch down,
Nor close in hard fraternal hugs, not I;
Th' equality I sought was, near the crown,
To hob or nob in sack, with Mister Pye.
Nor close in hard fraternal hugs, not I;
Th' equality I sought was, near the crown,
To hob or nob in sack, with Mister Pye.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |