So he flattered, so he preached; and gold and fame flowed in;
They flowed in,—he was reaping his reward, and felt himself a fool.
Alas, what a shadow was he following,—how precious was the substance he had left!
Man for God, gold for good, this was his miserable bargain.
The village church, its humble flock, and humbler parish priest,
Zeal, devotion, and approving Heaven,—his books, and simple life,
His little farm and flower-beds,—his recreative rambles with a friend,
And haply, at eventide, the leaping trouts, to help their humble fare,
All these wretchedly exchanged for what the world called fortune,
With the harrowing conscience of a state relapsed to vain ambitions.