352 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Buildest upon the highest hill, Thy neighbor into shame to cast.
When the bright autumn days draw nigh, And woods their golden tints unfold,
Swift as the wild goose dost thou fly To gloat 0X1 less unreal gold.
Thou grow'st more wretched day by day ;
Much dost thou get, yet naught enjoy ; And, when at last age makes thee gray,
Once more through dotage grown a boy.
Thy schoolmaster is cankered care, Thy learning, how life's joys to stint;
Thy sole resource against despair Is to live cold and hard as flint.
Go, man of dross, and be less proud !
Be less the slave of spleen and pelf ; First learn, amidst the bustling crowd,
To love thy neighbor like thyself.
Then come once more, these slopes ascend, Once more thy woodland walks renew ;
If thou art grown of man the friend.
Then mayst thou dwell with Nature, too.
Oft from these hilltops hast thou seen Her face all fresh with vernal glow ;
Come when the earth, no longer green. Presents a boundless waste of snow.
If thou hast cleansed thy sordid heart. These prospects still shall yield delight ;
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