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MANCHESTER, &c.
27
Discontent—Not diminished by Riches.
In all pursuits, to which the anxious mind
Ardent impels—successful—still we find
The gnawing venom rancour in the breast,
Destroy the peace, and rob the mind of rest.
Stern discontent! thrice dipt in gall, thy dart
Slow breaks the health, and triumphs in the smart:
The wounded deer nor dies, nor health regains,
But, drooping, languid, slow moves o'er the plains;
Nor joins the herd, nor rears aloft his head,
Proud of his branching antlers wide outspread.
Thee, discontent, thy Proteus form I view,
Chalk out our path, and every step pursue:
The things of life are phantoms of the air,
Nor wealth, nor honours soothe the brow of care.
Mark then the man, pale, haggard, void of rest,
Master of unknown thousands, still unblest;
His madden'd thoughts, disturb'd with every sound,
Affrighted start, and fear his treasure found.
Does he enjoy the trash which millions crave,
That trash for which all dangers millions brave?
Ardent impels—successful—still we find
The gnawing venom rancour in the breast,
Destroy the peace, and rob the mind of rest.
Stern discontent! thrice dipt in gall, thy dart
Slow breaks the health, and triumphs in the smart:
The wounded deer nor dies, nor health regains,
But, drooping, languid, slow moves o'er the plains;
Nor joins the herd, nor rears aloft his head,
Proud of his branching antlers wide outspread.
Thee, discontent, thy Proteus form I view,
Chalk out our path, and every step pursue:
The things of life are phantoms of the air,
Nor wealth, nor honours soothe the brow of care.
Mark then the man, pale, haggard, void of rest,
Master of unknown thousands, still unblest;
His madden'd thoughts, disturb'd with every sound,
Affrighted start, and fear his treasure found.
Does he enjoy the trash which millions crave,
That trash for which all dangers millions brave?
