222
A SHEAF GLEANED
Sonnet.—AVARITA.
Voluntary martyr to eternal cares,
To bitter penury self-vowed, he asks
No pleasures, no kind kinsmen, nor the tasks
That please the patriot; and he never dares
To use the things he has, but onward fares
As though he had them not: a poor man basks
In sunshine sometimes, but the miser masks
His day's wants from himself; till unawares,
As he recounts and grasps one day his gold,
Sudden he starts to hear an unknown voice,
'Ho, knave! Take nothing hence, let go thy hold!
Empty thy left hand now! Thou couldst rejoice
To hear the orphan's cry, the widow's sob,
But wouldst thou Death, O fool, deceive and rob?'
