©trass. 
237 
E'en liberty itself is bartered here. 
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, 
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys; 
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 
Here wretches seek dishonourable graves, 
And, calmly bent, to servitude conform, 
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm'. 
Goldsmith. 
Yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied 
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; 
From these the feeble heart and long-fallen mind 
An easy compensation seem to find. 
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp arrayed, 
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade; 
Processions formed for piety and love, 
A mistress or a saint in every grove. 
By sports like these are all their cares beguiled, 
The sports of children satisfy the child; 
Each nobler aim, repressed by long control, 
"Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; 
While low delights, succeeding fast behind, 
In happier meannqss occupy the mind: 
As in those domes, where Caesars once bore sway, 
Defaced by time and tottering in decay, 
There in the ruin, heedless of'the dead, 
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; 
And, wondering man could want the larger pile, 
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 
Goldsmith 
