Of narrow thoughts and manners coarse, Coarse as the curtains that beseem With net-festoons the smoky beam, Would never lodge my favorite dream. E'en with my pilot's daughter. To the large riches of the earth, Endowing men in their own spite, The poor, by privilege of birth, Stand in the closest right. Yet not alone the palm grows dull With clayey delve and watery pull: And this for me, -or hourly pain. But could I sink and call it gain? Unless a pilot true, 'twere vain To wed a pilot's daughter. Like her, perhaps?-but ah! I said, Much wiser leave such thoughts alone. So may thy beauty, simple maid, |