[3] The contest before Paris, on Mt. Ida.
Many an old man, whose limbs are as heavy as if the gold he had spent years to amass, were gliding, molten, through his veins, can join bitterly in the following lament, and many a young man, who forsakes the heights of Parnassus for the vale of Mammon, may find, too late, that the chase for riches is, in an evil sense, its own “exceeding great reward.”
When young, I was poor—now I’m old, I am wealthy—
Thus my life has been all but a goose-chase of pleasure—
I had not a copper, when buoyant and healthy,
But, past its enjoyment, I’ve mountains of treasure.
There has been in all ages a prejudice against step-mothers, and the feeling, if unjust, is yet natural. When the hearts of children are yet sore with sorrow for the loss of their own dear mother, it creates dislike to have another, whom as a stranger, they cannot view with love, step over their heads, and assume the reins of command. If kind, yet the contrast is strange, if not disgusting—the tones may be soft, but they are not those which sealed their infant eyes, and soothed their infant woes—if overbearing, her tyranny is intolerable.
Thinking her nature with her life was gone,
No more to household tyranny a slave,
A youth was crowning once the chiseled stone,