Thy country’s dead, thy muse’s sigh;
And bid thy vigorous manhood crown
What youthful genius reared so high!
Still to his task the bard applied,
Unrecked, unheeded all beside;
And as he closed his balance-sheet,
I heard his murmuring lips repeat:
‘Three hundred thousand, city rents,
Item a hundred, seven per cents,
Add cash, another hundred, say