Corn, cattle, wine, and money,--
The overflow of milk and honey.
But what to do with all this wealth!
What inventories, cares, and worry!
What wear of temper and of health!
Both lived in constant, slavish hurry.
Thieves took by plot, and lords by loan;
The king by tax, the poor by tone.
Thus felt the curses which
Arise from being rich,--
'Remove this affluence!' they pray;
The poor are happier than they
Whose riches make them slaves.
'Go, treasures, to the winds and waves;
Come, goddess of the quiet breast,
Who sweet'nest toil with rest,
Dear Mediocrity, return!'
The prayer was granted as we learn.
Two wishes thus expended,
Had simply ended
In bringing them exactly where,
When they set out they were.
So, usually, it fares
With those who waste in such vain prayers
The time required by their affairs.
The goblin laugh'd, and so did they.
However, ere he went away,
To profit by his offer kind,
They ask'd for wisdom, wealth of mind,--
A treasure void of care and sorrow--