Page:Orion, an epic poem - Horne (1843, 3rd edition).djvu/38

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Orion.
[Book I.
Weeding a marsh; a brutish clod, half built,
Hog-faced and hog-backed with his daily toil,
Mudded and root-stained by the steaming ooze,
As he himself were some unnatural growth;
Who yet, at times, whistled through broken fangs—
"Happier than I, this hind," Orion thought.

Once tow'rds the city outskirts strayed his steps,
With a half purpose some relief to seek
Midst haunts of men, and on the way he met
A mastic-sifter with his fresh-oiled face.
"O friend!" Orion said, "why dost thou walk
With shining cheek so sadly in the sun?"
Sighing, the melancholy man replied:—
"The lentisk-trees have ceased to shed their gums;
Their tears are changed for mine, since by that tree
Myself and children live. My toil stands still.
Hard lot for man, who something hath within
More than a tree, and higher than its top,
Or circling clouds, to live by a mere root
And its dark graspings! Clearly I see this,
And know how 't is that toil unequally
Is shared on earth: but knowledge is not power
To a poor man alone 'gainst all the world,