Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/140

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The wealth of the earth, and the spoils of the seas, Are thine; oh young Monarch, what ail'st thou, with these?"   "I'm weary, I'm weary. Oh! pleasure is pain When its spell has been broken again and again. I am weary of smiles that are bought and are sold, I am weary of beauty whose fetters are gold, I am weary of wealth—what makes it of me But that which the basest and lowest might be? I have drain'd the red wine-cup, and what found I there? A beginning of madness, no ending of care! I am weary of each, I am weary of all, Listless my revel, and lonely my hall. Breathe not the song, for its sweetness is flown; Fling not these flowers at the foot of my throne;