A Selection From the Works of Frederick Locker

I wish that I could run away From House, and Court, and Levee: Where bearded men appear to-day, Just Eton boys grown heavy.—W. M. Praed. Is human life a pleasant game That gives a palm to all? A fight for fortune, or for fame? A struggle, and a fall? Who views the Past, and all he prized, With tranquil exultation? And who can say, I've realised My fondest aspiration? Alas, not one! for rest assured That all are prone to quarrel With Fate, when worms destroy their gourd, Or mildew spoils their laurel: The prize may come to cheer our lot, But all too late—and granted