How frail are riches and their joys?
Morn builds the heap which eve destroys;
Yet can they have one sure delight--
The thought that we've employed them right.
What bliss can wealth afford to me
When life's last solemn hour I see,
When Mavia's sympathizing sighs
Will but augment my agonies?
Can hoarded gold dispel the gloom
That death must shed around his tomb?
Or cheer the ghost which hovers there,
And fills with shrieks the desert air?
What boots it, Mavia, in the grave,
Whether I lov'd to waste or save?
The hand that millions now can grasp,
In death no more than mine shall clasp.
Were I ambitious to behold
Increasing stores of treasured gold,
Each tribe that roves the desert knows
I might be wealthy if I chose:--
But other joys can gold impart,
Far other wishes warm my heart--
Ne'er may I strive to swell the heap,
Till want and woe have ceas'd to weep.
With brow unalter'd I can see
The hour of wealth or poverty:
I've drunk from both the cups of fate,
Nor this could sink, nor that elate.
With fortune blest, I ne'er was found
To look with scorn on those around;
Nor for the loss of paltry ore,
Shall Hatem seem to Hatem poor.
_Hatem Tai_.
[4] Hatem Tai was an Arabian chief, who lived a short time prior to
the promulgation of Mohammedanism. He has been so much celebrated
through the East for his generosity that even to this day the
greatest encomium which can be given to a generous man is to say
that he is as liberal as Hatem. Hatem was also a poet; but his
talents were principally exerted in recommending his favorite
virtue.