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Or all the barbarous Middle Ages, that
But when we hover between fool and sage,
Too old for youth, too young, at thirty-five,
And money, that most pure imagination,
Oh Gold! Why call we misers miserable?
And scorn his temperate board, as none at all,
Love or lust makes man sick, and wine much sicker;
And adding still a little through each cross
Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.
Who hold the balance of the world? Who reign
Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain coT
Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte,"
Are the true lords of Europe. Every loan
Is not a merely speculative hit, duo, vito com to
But seats a nation or upsets a throne. Republics also get involved a bit;
Columbia's stock hath holders not unknown
On 'Change; and even thy silver soil, Peru, re
Why call the miser miserable ąsed it more bhi a
Which in a saint or cynic ever was
The theme of praise: a hermit would not miss Canonization for the self-same cause,
And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities 2 Because, you'll say, nought calls for such a trial;Then there's more merit in his self-denial. 1
He is your only poet;-passion, pure
And sparkling on from heap to heap, displays, Possess'd, the ore, of which mere hopes allure Nations athwart the deep the golden rays Flash up in ingots from the mine obscure;
On him the diamond pours its brilliant blaze; While the mild emerald's beam shades down the dies Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes.
The lands on either side are his the ship
His very cellars might be kings' abodes;
Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind,
Some dome surmounted by his meagre face:/ Perhaps he fain would liberate mankind
Even with the very ore which makes them base; Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, Or, revel in the joys of calculation. I
But whether all, or each, or none of these! #
What is his own? Go-look at each transaction, Wars, revels, loves-do these bring men more ease Than the mere plodding through each « vulgar fraction? »
Or do they benefit mankind? Lean Miser!
Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours-who's wiser ?
# alium sili How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chests Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins
(Not of old Victors, all whose heads and crests Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines, But) of fine unclipt gold, where dully rests
Some likeness, which the glittering cirque confines, Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp:Yes! ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
<< Is Heaven, and Heaven is Love: so sings the
Which it were rather difficult to prove, geen (A thing with poetry in general hard.) Perhaps there may be something in the grove,
At least it rhymes to « Love; but I'm prepared To doubt (no less than landlords of their rental); < If « courts » and « camps » be quite so sentimental..