For who are they? But what art thou,
My Country? On thy fertile shore
The heroic lyre is tuneless now;
To scheme for dividends, dig for ore,
These are the things we hold divine,
Not HOMER's long-resounding line.
If you would make a splendid name
Amidst a lucre-loving race,
You must be in god Mammon's game,
And hustle for a foremost place.