"Thy wish has prosper'd—has its taste
Survived the hour its lust was drown'd;
Or yields thine expectation's zest
To full fruition, golden-crown'd?
"The rosebud is life's symbol bloom,
'Tis loved, 'tis coveted, 'tis riven—
Its grace, its fragrance, find a tomb,
When to the grasping hand 'tis given.
"Go, search the world, wherever woe
Of high or low the bosom wrings,
There, gasp for gasp, and throe for throe,
Is answer'd from the breast of kings.
"From every hearth-turf reeks its cloud,
From every heart its sigh is roll'd;
The rose's stalk is fang'd—one shroud
Is both the sting's and honey's fold.
"Is wealth thy lust—does envy pine
Where high its tempting heaps are piled?
Look down, behold the fountain shine,
And, deeper still, with dregs defiled!
"Quickens thy breath with rash inhale,
And falls an insect[107] in its toil?
The creature turns thy life-blood pale,
And blends thine ivory teeth with soil.
"When high thy fellow-mortal soars,
His state is like the topmost nest—
It swings with every blast that roars,
And every motion shakes its crest.
"And if the world for once is kind,
Yet ever has the lot its bend;
Where fortune has the crook inclined,
Not all thy strength or art shall mend.
"For as the sapling's sturdy stalk,
Whose double twist is crossly strain'd,
Such is thy fortune—sure to baulk
At this extreme what there was gain'd.
"When Heaven its gracious manna hail'd,
'Twas vain who hoarded its supply,
Not all his miser care avail'd
His neighbour's portion to outvie.