ON PITY.

SWEET is it to the warrior's ear

To mark the clamorous battle cry, But sweeter far the crystal tear

That falls from Pity's moistened eye; And savage is the cruel beast

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 ;

True pity acts not such a part;
It flies the rich, it flies the vain,-

It dwells in kind Sophia's heart.

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,—

VOL. II.

R

Then Laura opes her ready hand,

The tear bedews Emilia's eye; Sophia quits the selfish band

To soothe the pangs of poverty.

Gold can but present help afford ;

Emilia's tear is wiped away; Sophia feels her just reward,

A bliss which never will decay. This, the reward of virtue, this

Th' unfeeling heart will never know : It is the only earthly bliss

Which is not mixed with earthly woe.

1315.

ON THE DEPARTURE OF AN OLD HOUSE

KEEPER.

'Tis past; and since she is for ever fled,
With all her by-gone blanders on her head,
Let not the laugh, the sneer, pursue her still,
Nor mark her failings, where she meant no ill.
Cease now her foibles, Ridicule, to tell ;
Let Gratitude declare--she loved us well.

Can we forget, now when for aye we part,
Her charity, the goodness of her heart,
Her wish to please, her readiness to lend
(Although unasked) assistance to a friend ?
Can we forget all these ? and yet retain
The few—the puny errors of her brain ?
You who are blind to what her heart could do,
Be just at least, dismiss her failings too:
Grant—while an inmate, her mistakes could tease,
Her look amuse us, or her faults displease,—
Yet now-her fancies and her follies past-
Her failings vanish, while her love will last.

244

ON THE DEPARTURE OF AN OLD HOUSEKEEPER,

Still, when she calls to mind her happiest days,
She'll load her former friends with well meant praise ;
Still will regret that, forced at length to roam,
She leaves the spot she called so long her home.

Let us our ridicule, our mocking, end;
Quit the companion, yet retain the friend :
Forgive her faults, for there no malice low'rs;
Forget those faults, for she was blind to ours.

1816.