"This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile; And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd, perhaps, by a smile.” COWPER, THE BEGGAR'S PETITION. PITY the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief; and Heaven will bless your store. These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years: And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek Has been a channel to a flood of tears. 5 Yon house, erected on the rising ground, (Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor:) Oh! take me to your hospitable dome; Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold: Short is my passage to the friendly tomb, For I am poor and miserably old. Should I reveal the sources of my grief, If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, And tears of pity would not be represt. 15 20 Heaven sends misfortunes: why should we repine? 25 "T is Heaven has brought me to the state you see: And your condition may be soon like mine, The child of sorrow and of misery. A little farm was my paternal lot; Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn; 30 But, ah! oppression forced me from my cot; My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. My daughter, once the comfort of my age, Lured by a villain from her native home, My tender wife, sweet soother of my care, 85 Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair, And left the world to wretchedness and me. 40 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne himto your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief; and Heaven will bless your store. Moss. HUMAN FRAILTY. WEAK and irresolute is Man; The purpose of to-day, To-morrow rends away. The bow well bent and smart the spring, 5 Vice seems already slain, But passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. Some foe to his upright intent "T is here the folly of the wise Through all his art we view, 10 And while his tongue the charge denies, 15 Bound on a voyage of awful length And dangers little known, A stranger to superior strength, But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. 20 COWPER. THE POPLAR FIELD. THE poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade, Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view 5 The blackbird has fled to another retreat, My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, 15 The change both my heart and my fancy employs,— COWPER. 5 EPITAPH ON A HARE. HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo' Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Though duly from my hand he took He did it with a jealous look, His diet was of wheaten bread, And milk, and oats, and straw; On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, And, when his juicy salads fail'd, Sliced carrot pleased him well. 22 DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. A Turkey carpet was his lawn, His frisking was at evening hours, For then he lost his fear, But most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near. Eight years and five round rolling moons He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons, And every night at play. 25 30 He, still more aged, feels the shocks 40 Must soon partake his grave. COWPER. DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring And rifle all the breathing spring. |