Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/116

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How every victor's crown is lined with thorns, And worn mid scoffs! Trace the young poet's fate: Fresh from his solitude, the child of dreams, His heart upon his lips, he seeks the world, To find him fame and fortune, as if life Were like a fairy tale. His song has led The way before him; flatteries fill his ear, His presence courted, and his words are caught; And he seems happy in so many friends. What marvel if he somewhat overrate His talents and his state? These scenes soon change. The vain, who sought to mix their name with his; The curious, who but live for some new sight; The idle,—all these have been gratified, And now neglect stings even more than scorn. Envy has spoken, felt more bitterly,