ON PITY. SWEET is it to the warrior's ear And savage That prowls round Gondar's lofty tower, But harder far that human breast That ne'er has felt soft Pity's power. But see, with ostentatious sneer Will Laura precious gifts bestow; Emilia often sheds the tear, But affectation bids it flow. These do not own compassion's reign; Whene'er the poor, worn out with woe, Oppressed with trouble, years, and grief, From breasts which feel compassion's glow Solicit mild the kind relief, The Laura opes her ready hand, The tear bedews Emilia's eye; Sophia quits the selfish band Gold can but present help afford; A bliss which never will decay. Th' unfeeling heart will never know: (1815.) Which is not mixed with earthly woe. ON THE DEPARTURE OF AN OLD HOUSE KEEPER. "Tis past; and since she is forever fled, Can we forget, now when for aye we part, She'll load her former friends with well-meant praise; |