 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
111
FROM PETRARCH.
Sloth and the sensual mind have driven awayAll virtues from the world: where'er I range,
I note on every side an evil change;
Our steps are now unlit by heavenly ray:
The poet, walking in his crown of bay,
Is pointed at—for scorn; the selfish herds
Of mammon-worshippers insulting say
‘What is the worth of all these metred words?
Your crowns of bay and myrtle are but leaves:’
And so Philosophy goes starved and lone,
And Vice is glad, while widow'd Virtue grieves:
Still be not thou disheartened, generous one,
Follow that path, which entered ne'er deceives,
But leads if not to Gain, to Glory's throne.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |