Targum by George Henry Borrow
page 65 of 88 (73%)
page 65 of 88 (73%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
Song to obtain, O sweet reward,
And walk the garden of the Bard?-- But thy employ, the year throughout, Is wandering the White Tower about, Moulding and stamping coin with care, The farthing small and shilling fair. Let for a month thy Mint lie still, Covetous be not, little Will; Fly from the birth-place of the smoke, Nor in that wicked city choke; O come, though money's charms be strong, And if thou come I'll give thee song, A draught of water, hap what may, Pure air to make thy spirits gay And welcome from an honest heart, That's free from every guileful art. I'll promise--fain thy face I'd see-- Yet something more, sweet friend, to thee: The poet's cwrw {79} thou shalt prove, In talk with him the garden rove, Where in each leaf thou shalt behold The Almighty's wonders manifold; And every flower, in verity, Shall unto thee show visibly, In every fibre of its frame, His deep design, who made the same.-- A thousand flowers stand here around, With glorious brightness some are crown'd: How beauteous art thou, lily fair! With thee no silver can compare: |
|