ODE. (From Horace — Lib. Ii. Od. 18.)
No ivory—no golden ceiling
Adorns my modest home;
No marble pillars, wealth revealing
Proudly support the dome.
No regal fortune, princely dwelling,
Hath fate vouchsafed to me,
I am not clad, in state excelling,
In robe of sovereignty:
A vein of wit, by nature’s blessing,
And honest heart are mine.
Yet me to honour, nought possessing
The wealthiest incline;
Why should I then the gods importune
To add unto my store,
Contented with my humble fortune
I could not wish for more.
Day hastes to follow day, and truly
New moons but come to die,
The tomb awaits thy ashes duly
Mid all thy pageantry.
Yet mindless of the fatal hour
On high thou build’st the hall,
Insatiate with thy wealth and power
Thou fain would’st seize on all;
Thy neighbour’s farm, thy neighbour’s dwelling,
All would’st thou have for thee,
’Gainst justice and ’gainst law rebelling
With base cupidity;
While from their home unjustly driven
The husband and the wife
(The babes exposed to winds of heaven)
Must linger out their life:
But one sure homestead there remaineth
Than all on earth more sure,
The dark abode where Orcus reigneth
Alike o’er rich and poor,
Just earth entombeth ev’n the poorest
With sons of royalty,
And Charon thou in vain allurest
For gold to set it free:
Great kings renowned in ancient story
He holdeth in his might,
Far famed of old for warlike glory
Now doomed to endless night:
Invoked in pity he hath risen,
And uninvoked,—to free
The hapless poor from their earth-prison
And grant them liberty.
E. B. Watermeyer.