Page:Poems Holford.djvu/30

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18
the pursuit.
Wealth smil'd contempt, to see my aim
Was such unprofitable game;
But would not chide me from my whim,
Lest I should interfere with him.
Thus, each maintained his own pursuit
Led to the only solid fruit,
And found in every neighbour's aim
Food for compassion, mirth, or blame!
With ardent heart I urg'd the chase,
I reach'd the goal, I won the race!
With the high prize my toils are bless'd,
And now I wear it in my breast.