The Borough

by George Crabbe

And in those seasons feels herself repaid,

For labours past and honours long delay’d.

No! ’tis not worldly gain, although by chance

The sons of learning may to wealth advance;

Nor station high, though in some favouring hour

The sons of learning may arrive at power;

Nor is it glory, though the public voice

Of honest praise will make the heart rejoice:

But ’tis the mind’s own feelings give tho joy,

Pleasures she gathers in her own employ -