Ode to Avarice

In vain they vex the ocean's flow,
Those ships of Portugal ; nor Persian seas,
Nor kind Molucca's islands grow
That best of all the wondrous trees
That soothes the drooping, troubled mind to ease.
Ne'er think 'twill calm the cankered heart
My Philip, all the wealth that Indian ore
Or sparkling emeralds can impart ;
The greedy eye, askance, seeks more
Than grasping soul can e'er increase its store.
It was a Captain once of Rome
Whose life was quenched, but not his thirst severe,
By Persian goblet's poisoned foam \
And Tantalus brooked ghastly fear
As oft the river to his lips drew near.
'Tis wretched thus to be athirst,
And, uncoerced, to labor, slave and tire ;
Of evil fates 'tis sure the worst
To cross the waves, hunt gold in mire,
To clench the tightened, niggard hand still nigher.

Of what avail the gathered heap
Won by the villany of naked dice,
If at the last 't has murdered sleep,
Or wrinkled deep the sunken eyes,
To leave a rich man in a pauper's guise?

CV2
CO
CV2

CO

♦rf