Before his arrival at Bagdad, Osmyn had already eaten half-a-dozen of
the pastilles, and consequently carried with him half-a-dozen poems,
beside which were to fade the productions of the greatest Eastern poets.
But he soon found that pretenders to talent often succeed better than
those who really possess it. He felt the necessity of connecting himself
with literary men, and men of the world; but he only found them occupied
with their business, their pleasures, or their own pretensions. Under
what title could he present himself? Under that of a poet? The court and
the city overflowed with them; they had already filled every avenue. To
consult his fellows would be to consult his rivals; to ask their praises
would be to ask a miser for his treasures. Besides, so many books
appeared, that people did not care to read. However, Osmyn's works were
published, but they were not even noticed in the multitude of similar
productions.
After having vegetated four or five years at Bagdad, without obtaining
anything but weak encouragement given by wise men, (who are without
influence because they are wise,) poor Osmyn began to lose the brilliant
hopes that formerly had dazzled him.
Pages:
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28