26.12.2010, 12:22
O be thou keen to guess when Flattery's near !
His face is not the shadow of his heart :
The court is all for lucre like the mart,
And fraught with perils that a king should fear —
Trust not the flatterer's hollow sympathy :
For should'st thou fathom that dishonest sound,
The line would rise with noisome clays hung round
And not the fruitful loam of love for thee :
O ill-starred royalty ! Love's balmy sighs
Where Truth breathes on us from her sweetest shrine —
The access to all pure delights and ties —
Say, are they less the peasant's lot than thine ?
Beyond the shepherd's bliss thou canst not rise ;
And many snares to steal ev'n that combine.'
His face is not the shadow of his heart :
The court is all for lucre like the mart,
And fraught with perils that a king should fear —
Trust not the flatterer's hollow sympathy :
For should'st thou fathom that dishonest sound,
The line would rise with noisome clays hung round
And not the fruitful loam of love for thee :
O ill-starred royalty ! Love's balmy sighs
Where Truth breathes on us from her sweetest shrine —
The access to all pure delights and ties —
Say, are they less the peasant's lot than thine ?
Beyond the shepherd's bliss thou canst not rise ;
And many snares to steal ev'n that combine.'