 | The Autobiography of John Galt |  |
157
ODE.
I
With leisure, and a pen at hand,Who can the muse's will withstand?
Who can resist, possessing these,
And breathing genius in Greece,
To let his idle fancy play
At numbers and the tinkling lay?
II
While here I range on classic ground,O'er relics of the long renown'd,
And see the hinds that toil for bread
Blest as were e'er the famous dead;
As happy with their frugal aim
As those that lived and died for fame:—
III
And while I wand'ring here enquire,Where the bright sage and bard of fire,
Who glory ray'd in ancient times,
That still illumines distant climes,
Were wont to shed the radiant thought,—
And find them all like hinds forgot;—
IV
The proud, the strong, the daring fiend,That ever tempts me to ascend,
Abash'd relaxes, and content,
Asks with some gentle blandishment,
What boots the crown or laurel wreath
To them that sleep in peaceful death?
| The Autobiography of John Galt | |