Classic Poem

How I forsook
Elias and Pisa after, and betook
Myself to Argos and Mycenae, where
An earthly god I worshiped, with what there
I suffered in that hard captivity,
Would be too long for thee to hear, for me
Too sad to utter. Only thus much know;--
I lost my labor, and in sand did sow:
I writ, wept, sung; hot and cold fits I had;
I rid, I stood, I bore, now sad, now glad,
Now high, now low, now in esteem, now scorned;
And as the Delphic iron, which is turned
Now to heroic, now mechanic use,
I feared no danger,--did no pains refuse;
Was all things,--and was nothing; changed my hair,
Condition, custom, thoughts, and life,--but ne'er
Could change my fortune. Then I knew at last,
And panted after, my sweet freedom past.
So, flying smoky Argos, and the great
Storms that attend on greatness, my retreat
I made to Pisa,--my thought's quiet port.

Who would have dreamed 'midst plenty to grow poor;
Or to be less, by toiling to be more?
I thought, by how much more in princes' courts
Men did excel in titles and supports,
So much the more obliging they would be,
The best enamel of nobility.
But now the contrary by proofs I've seen:
Courtiers in name, and courteous in their mien,
They are; but in their actions I could spy
Not the least transient spark of courtesy.
People, in show, smooth as the calmed waves,
Yet cruel as the ocean when it raves:
Men in appearance only did I find,--
Love in the face, but malice in the mind;
With a straight look and tortuous heart, and least
Fidelity where greatest was professed.
That which elsewhere is virtue is vice there:
Plain truth, fair dealing, love unfeigned, sincere
Compassion, faith inviolable, and
And innocence both of the heart and hand,
They count the folly of a soul that's vile
And poor,--a vanity worthy their smile.
To cheat, to lie, deceit and theft to use,
And under show of pity to abuse,
To rise upon the ruins of their brothers,
And seek their own by robbing praise from others,
The virtues are of that perfidious race.
No worth, no valor, no respect of place,
Of age, or law,--bridle of modesty,--
No tie of love or blood, nor memory
Of good received; nothing's so venerable,
Sacred, or just, that is inviolable
By that vast thirst of riches, and desire
Unquenchable of still ascending higher.
Now I, not fearing, since I meant not ill,
And in court-craft not having any skill,
Wearing my thoughts charactered on my brow,
And a glass window in my heart,--judge thou
How open and how fair a mark my heart
Lay to their envy's unsuspected dart.