ON PITY. SWEET is it to the warrior's ear That falls from Pity's moistened eye; 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 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, Then 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. Which is not mixed with earthly woe. (1815.) ON THE DEPARTURE OF AN OLD HOUSEKEEPER. 'Tis past; and since she is forever fled, Can we forget, now when for aye we part, Her wish to please, her readiness to lend Her look amuse us, or her faults displease,- Still will regret that, forced at length to roam, Let us our ridicule, our mocking, end; Quit the companion, yet retain the friend; Forgive her faults, for there no malice lowers; Forget those faults, for she was blind to ours. (1816.) |