Pollok.

The deep damnation of the crowd, O Gold!

Heapeth reproach upon thy innocent dust!

“Evil’s prolific root,”—“Bribe of the just,”—

“Strength of the false and cruel,”—“God, extoll’d

By priests, by whom heaven’s pardoning grace is sold,”—

Such are thy titles! while, with covetous lust,

Men hoard the very ore they have befoul’d

With the tongue’s obloquy of wordy rust,—

Yet thou art sinless, Gold! and bright, and bland,