Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.
By Ode to My Ingenious Friend, Mr Thomas GodfreyNathaniel Evans (17421767)
W
In search of fortune, far from home,
O’er bogs, e’er seas and mountains;
I too, debarr’d the soft retreat
Of shady groves, and murmur sweet
Of silver prattling fountains,
And bear my load of cares along,
Like any other sinner:
For, where ’s the ecstasy in this,
To loiter in poetic bliss,
And go without a dinner?
With mighty kings and statesmen fared,
And lived in cheerful plenty:
But now, in these degenerate days,
The slight reward of empty praise,
Scarce one receives in twenty.
The pleasing Tiber pour his song,
When bless’d with ease and quiet;
Oft did he grace Mæcenas’ board,
Who would for him throw by the lord,
And in Falernian riot.
And we are in a climate cast
Where few the muse can relish;
Where all the doctrine now that’s told,
Is that a shining heap of gold
Alone can man embellish.
If you be wise, my strain attend,
And counsel sage adhere to;
With me, henceforward, join the crowd,
And like the rest proclaim aloud,
That money is all virtue!
To some fair villa, sweetly neat,
To entertain the muses;
And then life’s noise and trouble leave—
Supremely blest, we ’ll never grieve
At what the world refuses.