Classic Poem

A rustic youth (he seeks no better name)
Alike unknown to fortune and to fame,
Acknowledging a debt he ne'er can pay,
For thee, O Millar! frames the artless lay:
That yet he lives, that vital warmth remains,
And life's red tide bounds briskly thro' his veins;
To thee he owes. His grateful heart believe,
And take his thanks sincere, 'tis all he has to give.
Let traders brave the flood in thirst of gain,
Kept with disquietude as got with pain;
Let heroes, tempted by a sounding name,
Pursue bright honour in the fields of fame.
Can wealth or fame a moment's ease command
To him, who sinks beneath affliction's hand?
Upon the wither'd limbs fresh beauty shed;
Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?