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Or all the barbarous Middle Ages,
Which is most barbarous is the middle age lo Of man, it is—I really scarce know what; But when we hover between fool and sage, And don't know justly what we would be at,how A periód something like a printed page, Black letter upon foolscap, while our hair Grows grizzled, and we are not what we were;
Too old for youth,too young, at thirty-five,a
I wonder people should be left alive;
But since they are, that epoch is a bore: Love lingers still, although 'twere late to wive; And as for other love, the illusion's o'er; And money, that most pure imagination, Gleams only through the dawn of its creation.
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;
But making money, slowly first, then quicker,
(Which will come over things) beats love or liquor,
tawow daily vleji mond l'heb br^ Who hold the balance of the world? Who reign
O'er Congress, whether royalist or liberal? Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain?:
(That make old Europe's journals squeak and
Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain oɔT
Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte,"
Republics also get involved a bit; . # Llc 10
On 'Change; and even thy silver soil, Peru,
Why call the miser (miserable? ąsti zirkan, ma bhuk
I said before the frugal life is his, if not ne b 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? Because, you'll say, nought calls for such a trial;Then there's more merit in his self-denial.
He is your only poet;-passion, pure
And sparkling on from heap to heap, display's, 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
From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay, unloads For him the fragrant produce of each trip; Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the roads, And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip;
His very cellars might be kings' abodes; While he, despising every sensual call, Commands the intellectual lord of all,
Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind,
A hospital, a church,—and leave behind
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.
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 ?
my alium sit 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.
« Love rules the camp, the court, the grove, »—« for
« Is Heaven, and Heaven is Love: so sings the **01 ( 161 gobos a murd ST
Which it were rather difficult to prove,
(A thing with poetry in general hard.) Perhaps there may be something in «d 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.