Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Wed not for Gold
Wed Not for Gold.
Wouldst wed for gold? Seek yonder palace-gate,Where liveried menials at the entrance wait:They guard the porch 'gainst all of low degree,But thou, unseen, shall enter there with me,And learn a lesson from a gilded paeg;Too true the tale it tells, from age to age,
Of wealth and misery joined hand in hand.See yonder lady fair!—wouldst understandWhy on her youthful brow that shadow rests?Can it be true that aught of grief molestsOne who is mistress of a home like this?_What, cannot riches purchase earthly bliss?Fool! list the moral that this scene imparts.—She purchased wealth—with what?—two broken hearts.Scarce one short year ago, a youthful pairPlighted their troth, and swore through life to share,Whether for weal or woe, their mutual lot;But wealth came limping by, and she forgotHer faith, his love; alas! poor girl, she soldHer earthly happiness, her heaven, for gold.Where is he now, that poor heart-broken boy?When he beheld his all of earthly joyGone, gone for ever with the rich man's bride.A tombstone mournful whispers, "that he died."And is she happy now? No; every sceneShe looks upon but tells what might have been.Though decked in costly silks and satins rare,Though priceless jewels glitter in her hair,Though blessed with everything that wealth can buy,Still is she happy? List the stifled sighBursting unbidden from her aching breast.It sometimes finds a voice, though oft repressed:And in that sigh a truthful tale is told;Go, write it on thy heart—Wed not for gold.
Wouldst wed for gold? Seek yonder humble cot;There wealth and misery are alike forgot;Wide open stands the hospitable door,And welcome he who enters, rich or poor.Contentment smiles around with homely grace;Here jaundiced Avarice, with saffron face,Would e'en forget his hoards of yellow dust,And give his millions could he share the crustThat honest labour renders ever sweet,(Not always such the luxuries of the great)See from his daily toil the cotter come;Full well he knows the loved one waits him home;Little cares he to share the rich man's part,His mine of wealth is one true woman's heart;Like those twin stars that mariners descry,When looking eastward in the northern sky,They seek the cynosure to trace their wayO'er pathless seas; but lest they wandering stray And choose some other orb, the pointer's guideTo it above, heedless of all beside;Revolving ever, still they never roveFrom out the path that guards the star they love.So woman's fond affections, pure and true,Once gained, will faithful ever cling to youThough all else change. Let good or ill betide,Faint not, blest man, an angel's at thy side.Constant in death, she whispering, points above—"Dearest, we'll meet in heaven, for heaven is love."Think well on this, ye fools, that seek to gainA fleeting pleasure for an age of pain'Tis short-lived pleasure wealth alone can give,And happier far, methinks, 'twould be to livePoor but contented. Now my thought is told,Go, write it on thy heart—Wed not for gold.
Wed not for gold. Seek California's shore,Contend with thousands for the glittering ore;Toil while the sun beats on thy fevered head;Toil till thy fainting heart is almost dead;Toil till thy worn-out limbs refuse to stand;Dig till the pickaxe drop from out thy hand;Till frosted head and heart proclaim thee old—Ay, more,—till death! but, oh! wed not for gold.