Sonnet Xxii Poem by Robert Anderson

Let others praise the splendour of the town

Let others praise the splendour of the town,
Where Wealth unfeeling, Misery doth deride;
Where patient Merit seldom gains renown,
But sinks beneath the bitter taunt of Pride,
And Virtue pines in want; while Vice on down
Sees pamper'd Folly fatt'ning by her side.
Tho' Grandeur scorns me, and my cot be rude;
Tho' doom'd to tread thro' life a thorny way;
Tho' the fair flow'rs, by youthful Fancy strew'd,
Ere manhood's prime, had hasten'd to decay,
And on my steps doth Sorrow aye intrude,
Dark'ning the light of Hope's heart--cheering ray;
Yet fain with thee I'd dwell, sweet Solitude,
And, far from Riot, wait life's closing day.