Classic Poem

(On a More Recent Occasion)

Keep but unspoilt your style and heart,
And you are free to choose your part.
My friend, I will not judge or blame you,
Even though a counsellor they name you.

They're making an absurd ado
About this counsellorship and you.
From the Seine to the Elbe, (how great your glory!)
I have heard for months the selfsame story.

Do the legs that hurried on, to-day
With equal speed retrace their way?
On Swabian crabs do you backward wander? —
With princes' courtesans philander?

Perhaps you are tired, and fain for rest.
All night you boldly blew your best,
Your trusty horn you will hang on the wall now,
Let blow who will to the rabble's call now.

You go to bed and shut your eyes,
But find no peace; by the mocking cries
They raise without, your slumber's shaken:
" Art sleeping, Brutus? Save! Awaken! "

Bawlers like these can never know
Why the best of watchmen cease to blow;
Young braggadocios, ripe for riot,
Guess not why men at last grow quiet.

You ask of me, how wags my world.
The weather's fine, the wind upfurled,
The weathercocks in a quandary:
The breezes neither blow nor vary.