The Rodney telegraph. (Rodney, Miss.) 1838-1840, 1839-07-18
ODE TO GOLD.

ODE TO GOLD.
Mysterious spirit Of the mine,
Whose power the human race controls!
Thetribes that bask beneath the line,
The fur-clad wanderers Of the poles
All shades, all tongues, or bond or free,
Whate'er their creed, still worship thee<
Lord Of the humble and the high!
In pleasures or in peril's hour,
To thee we turn, on thee rely,
So sosereign's thy protective power,
Thy virtues more defence afford,
Than wisdom's shield or valor's sword.
Nor art thou, as guard alone,
Against impending evils famed;
Far more efficient art thou known
To be in courts where DONORS named
The soldiers badge, the bishops see,
Though merit claims, are won by thee.
Thou art the sovereign Of the wise;
For thee they burn the midnight oil
For thee they trace the starry skies,
Or with laborious learning toll.
Inspired by thee, proud science scars,
And time-worn knowledge opes her stores.
Thou art the idol Of the weak;
Office possessed, they thread the crowd,
With head erect, and when they speak,
,Tis with commanding voice and loud.
Thou givest cen to meanness merit,
And arm'st with power the poor in spirit.
Thus those t. whom partial nature gave
But twinkling lights and shallow urns,
By thee are rendered great and grave
As those in whom Minerva burns:
Fen potent genius feels thy fires,
And woos the fame thy breath inspires.
Thou art the meteor of the poor,
And magnet Of the mitred throng;
The star that guides the patriot corps,
The rainbow of the sons Of song
The Turing form of splendid dies,
That seldom greets the poets eyes.
Thou art the Locofoco's God!
Whose idol rage is worse by half
Than theirs who, tired OF Moses's rod,
Babe Aaron build the golden calf,
Round which they shouted, danced and sung
Till Sinai's mount with horror rung.
Thou art the guardian of the brave,
As witnessed erst Moldavia's plain
Where naught the "Russian bear'' could saw
From Islam's sabre, or its chain,
But thy still all-potential charm,
Which stayed the Turks uplifted arm.
Through tower capt towns and walls of bras
Which armies have besieged in vain,
Laden Nth thee, the sluggish ass
Safe winds his way. Nor can restrain
The banners hosts, with shield and spear,
Thy still all-conquering career.
Thou art the rival of that God
Whose torch old Troy in ashes laid.
For 10, the paths by love once trod,
Now groan beneath thy cavalcade.
While beauty, deafto vows sincere,
Lends to thy voice willing ear.
Ger time. Ger death, thy spirit filings
Its purple pail, and soothes the pain
That age begets,or sorrow brings
The splendid dover and wide domain
Give to the Widows tears relief,
And touch with JOY the Orphans grief.
Nor is thy power to earth confined,
Beyond ife's bourne its reach extends,
Nor death, nor hell itself, can bind
Its victim, if the Pope but lends
| To thee his ear. For thee, well cramm'd,
| His holiness lets loose the damn'd!
Ambition bends before thy shrine,
And regal pride invokes thy powers:
Philosophy, though half divine,
Before thee still isnobly covers;
The MUSE, immortal, towering, free,
! Alone disdains tostoop to thee!
THE THREE SHARPERS.
AN ARABIAN TALE.
| A peasant was conducting goat to b
dad he was mounted on mule, and the g
following him with a bell hung to his ne,