And guiding stars shine not
To cheer the sailor’s breast.
‘War-torn Thrace cries Peace!
And Peace! the quivered Median bold:
But, Grosphus, it is neither bought
With purple, gems, nor gold.
For neither riches
Nor the lictor of a consul’s nod,
Can drive the troubles of a mind aloof,
Nor flout the cares which flit