He comes with stealthy step and restless eye,
Meagre and wan—a living skeleton—
To where his god, his golden treasures lie,
He comes to feast (his only meal) thereon:
'Rich! rich!' he cries—' I am as Crœsus rich!'
Poor, poor he is!—not Lazarus more poor;
Envy him not, thou houseless, wandering wretch,
Who beg'st for charity from door to door;
It is gaunt Avarice! If he could feed
His famished body through his greedy eye,
Or carry to the grave his gold—indeed!
Envied on earth he'd live, and envied die;
But he is like the wave which covers o'er
Gems unenjoyed, it leaves, in ebbing from the shore.
[ANACREONTIC.]
I.
Strike, strike the golden strings,
And to their glorious sound,
Fill, fill the red wine high,
And let the toast go round:
To woman, dearest woman,
Quaff we the generous wine;
Give me thy hand, my brother,
Here's to thy love and mine,
Thy love and mine!
II.
Strike, strike the harp, that ever
Thrilled to dear woman's praise;
Of all the themes the brightest
May win a poet's lays:
To woman, dearest woman,
Quaff the warm blood of the vine;
And hand in hand, my brother,
Drink we to thine and mine,
To thine and mine!
A. A. M.