Whose pensive ear no wakeful sounds alarm, Save the lone owl, slow clock, or bellman's drowsy charm. Me let the cheerful dance engage, Swift urg'd along the lighted dome; Let the sage Hermit shun mankind, Penurious on the verdant herb to sup, Be mine, amidst the social band, The raptures of champaign to taste, Whose vigorous juice new relish gives To mutual converse, Reason's feast; While old Anacreon seems to rise, and say, "Begone, ye toils of life, ye busy cares, away!" ODE XXXIX. TO POVERTY. BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE. HIE thee hence! thou spectre foul, Hence! nor o'er yon dwelling scowl Hence!-from the artless bard keep wide aloofFly rather to his hated roof, Who, deaf to Mercy's soft controul, Can steel with rugged edge the soul: Plund'ring, unmov'd the orphan's cry can hear, Or from the widow'd lip the scanty morsel tear :— But pass him by, the wooer mild Of Genius, friend to all, Nature's ingenuous child. Constant toil, and coarsest fare, Long indeed the village hind In silent apathy may bear, While o'er his brow Health's rosy wreath is twin'd: While his passions sluggish flow, Borne on life's pacific round; Nor aims his highest wish to know Beyond the hamlet's pale, his grandsire's farthest bound. Yet, rous'd to feeling, much he mourns his lot, Frowns on his humble cot, When sinks his drooping front, and bend his feeble knees. There, oft, unheeded on the ground, May Sickness, Age, and Want be found, United all in one forlorn abode, Of grief each singly own'd a melancholy load. From the damp and earthy bed The sufferer lifts his aching sight in vain :- Sad pallet this for ease! sad comforter in pain ! Fly, ye rich, unbidden fly, Pour your oil, and pour your wine: Wipe from tears the misty eye; Charity's a ray divine— A raythat lights the soul with brightest beam to shine. Why withhold the little boon? Seems it much, ye sons of wealth, Glitt❜ring moths of sunny noon— Plum'd with gold of joy and health? O think! a blast may come, yourselves may perish soon! Yet, different in this common state, What different care attends your happier fate! Fading you may sure receive All wayward fancy craves, all soothing art can give: While, with equal wants opprest, The child of Misery heaves his lab'ring breast, Cheer'd by no kind assisting powers, Scarce with such crumbs sustain'd as hungry Health devours. Melt, in soft compassion melt, Ye gentle, wail th' unletter'd peasant poor: Does Penury haunt th' ill-omen'd scholar's door; Warm'd his soul with genial flame In youth's gay spring was bid to rise, Much he hop'd, for many a tale Of praise was echo`d to his ear; Awhile it blew,—then dy'd away, Like breezes with declining day, And left him, wondring wretch! forsaken quite, In Poverty's dead calm, and Disappointment's night. What avails th' expanded mind, Call'd home,-what Stoic pride the soul can steel, When every sinew's rack'd, and every nerve must feel? What avails the glowing heart, The eye that glistens at distress; Or make at least a brother's sorrow less? From Trouble's spring the deepest draught he drew, Who mourns his own hard lot, and weeps for others too. At the sad mistaken gate When the maim'd veteran takes his suppliant stand, Love too-for in the lowliest cell. Chaste love with purest flame may dwell |