"never joy, / Save th' anxious sordid one to view his gold, / Could touch his marble heart"
— Mickle, William Julius [formerly William Meikle] (1734-1788)
Work Title
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
T. Becket and P. A. De Hondt
Date
1762
Metaphor
"never joy, / Save th' anxious sordid one to view his gold, / Could touch his marble heart"
Metaphor in Context
Shock'd to the Soul, you saw the woful fate
Of Rhadzan, great and good; yet ev'n the fire
That burnt his plenty, Heav'n in mercy sent.
His alms, that first in charity began,
In foolish ostentation now were giv'n;
The lazy Drone, and him of real want,
Shar'd all alike; and vain his heart became;
The offspring of his wisdom and desert,
He held his mighty wealth; but now he sees
And mourns his folly. A rich fleet next day,
Long since giv'n up for lost, all safe arrives:
Rhadzan again is wealthy, and again
The Father of the Poor; but now no more
Th' Encourager of baneful Idleness,
Vain and forgetful of his God no more.
Th' unfeeling Cadmor, whom you thought so blest,
Swiming in plenty, and, tho' ill of heart,
Sharing the care of Heav'n, while Rhadzan mourn'd
Abandon'd in a jail; Cadmor is curs'd,
And long has been, with wealth he cannot use.
Devoted to his gold, the meagre Wretch
Grudges his own coarse morsel; never joy,
Save th' anxious sordid one to view his gold,
Could touch his marble heart; each blast of wind
That murmurs in his key-hole, tears his Soul
With dire chimeras; from his bed he starts,
And feels his bolts and bars: oft as he trusts,
When lur'd by profit, till he get again,
He trembles for his gold. By night and day,
Intense and restless, works his little mind,
Still to increase the wealth he cannot use;
And when a loss befalls, the pains of hell
Seize on his breast. Such fruits his treasures yield.
Of Rhadzan, great and good; yet ev'n the fire
That burnt his plenty, Heav'n in mercy sent.
His alms, that first in charity began,
In foolish ostentation now were giv'n;
The lazy Drone, and him of real want,
Shar'd all alike; and vain his heart became;
The offspring of his wisdom and desert,
He held his mighty wealth; but now he sees
And mourns his folly. A rich fleet next day,
Long since giv'n up for lost, all safe arrives:
Rhadzan again is wealthy, and again
The Father of the Poor; but now no more
Th' Encourager of baneful Idleness,
Vain and forgetful of his God no more.
Th' unfeeling Cadmor, whom you thought so blest,
Swiming in plenty, and, tho' ill of heart,
Sharing the care of Heav'n, while Rhadzan mourn'd
Abandon'd in a jail; Cadmor is curs'd,
And long has been, with wealth he cannot use.
Devoted to his gold, the meagre Wretch
Grudges his own coarse morsel; never joy,
Save th' anxious sordid one to view his gold,
Could touch his marble heart; each blast of wind
That murmurs in his key-hole, tears his Soul
With dire chimeras; from his bed he starts,
And feels his bolts and bars: oft as he trusts,
When lur'd by profit, till he get again,
He trembles for his gold. By night and day,
Intense and restless, works his little mind,
Still to increase the wealth he cannot use;
And when a loss befalls, the pains of hell
Seize on his breast. Such fruits his treasures yield.
Categories
Provenance
Searching in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
05/27/2005
