• Good Heav'n, revoke! remember, if the Set

'Be lost, in honour you should pay the Deut.'

"There, there's your Money; but while I have life,

"I'll never more sit down with Man and Wife;

They snap and snarl indeed, but in the heat

"Of all their Spleen, their Understandings meet; They are Free-Masons, and have many a Sign,

"

"That we, poor devils! never can divine:

B

1

THE ALMS HOUSE.

[From the same.]

E it agreed-the Poor who hither come,
Partake of Plenty, seldom found at home;
That airy Rooms and decent Beds are meant,
To give the Poor by day, by night, Content;
That none are frighten'd, once admitted here,
By the stern looks of lordly Overseer:
Grant that the Guardians of the Place attend,
And ready ear to each Petition lend;
That they desire the grieving poor to show
What ills they feel, what partial Acts they know,
Not without promise, nay desire to heal
Each Wrong they suffer, and each Woe they feel.

Alas! their Sorrows in their Bosoms dwell,
They've much to suffer, but have nought to tell;
They have no Evil in the Place to state,
And dare not say, it is the House they hate:
They own there's granted all such Place can give,
But live repining, for 'tis there they live.

Grandsires are there, who now no more must see,
No more must nurse upon the trembling knee
The lost-lov'd Daughter's infant Progeny:
Like Death's dread Mansion, this allows not place
For joyful Meetings of a kindred Race.

Is not the Matron there, to whom the Son
Was wont at each declining day to run;
He (when his toil was over) gave delight,
By lifting up the latch, and one "Good Night?"
Yes, she is here, but nightly to her door
The Son, still labouring, can return no more.

Widows are here, who in their Huts were left,
Of Husbands, Children, Plenty, Ease bereft;
Yet all that Grief within the humble Shed
Was soften'd, soften'd in the humble Bed:
But here, in all its force, remains the Grief,
And not one soft'ning object for relief.

:

Who can when here, the social Neighbour meet?

Who learn the Story current in the Street?
Who to the long-known Intimate impart
Facts they have learn'd or Feelings of the Heart?---
They talk indeed, but who can choose a Friend,

1.

1

Or seek Companions at their journey's end?

Here are not those whom they, when Infants, knew;
Who, with like Fortune, up to Manhood grew;
Who, with like Troubles, at old Age arriv'd;
Who, like themselves, the Joy of Life surviv'd;
Whom Time and Custom so familiar made,
That Looks the Meaning in the Mind convey'd :
But here to Strangers, Words nor Looks impart
The various Movements of the suffering Heart;
Nor will that Heart with those Alliance own,
To whom its views and hopes are all unknown.

What, if no grievous Fears their Lives annoy,
Is it not worse no Prospects to enjoy?
'Tis cheerless living in such bounded View,
With nothing dreadful, but with nothing new;
Nothing to bring them Joy, to make them weep,
The Day itself is, like the Night, asleep:
Or on the sameness, if a break be made,
'Tis by some Pauper to his Grave convey'd;
By smuggled News, from neighb'ring Village told;
News never true, or Truth a twelvemonth old;
By some new Inmate doom'd with them to dwell,
Or Justice come to see that all goes well;
Or change of Room, or hour of Leave to crawl
On the black Foot-way winding with the Wall,
'Till the stern Bell forbids, or Master's sterner call.

}

Here too the Mother sees her Children train'd,
Her Voice excluded and her feelings pain'd:
Who govern here, by general Rules must move,
Where ruthless Custom rends the Bond of Love.
Nations we know have Nature's Law transgress'd,
And snatch'd the infant from the Parent's breast;

VOL. LII.

3 A

But

But still for public good the Boy was train'd,
The Mother suffer'd, but the Matron gain'd:
Here Nature's outrage serves no cause to aid,
The Ill is felt, but not the Spartan made.

Then too I own it grieves me to behold
Those ever virtuous, helpless now and old,
By all for Care and Industry approv'd,
For truth respected and for temper lov'd;
And who by sickness and misfortune try'd,
Gave Want its worth and Poverty its pride:
I own it grieves me to behold them sent
From their old Home; 'tis Pain, 'tis Punishment,
To leave each scene familiar, every Face,
For a new People and a stranger Race;
For those who, sunk in Sloth and dead to Shame,
From Scenes of Guilt with daring Spirits came;
Men, just and guileless, at such Manners start,
And bless their God that Time has fenc'd their Heart,
Confirm'd their Virtue, and expell'd the Fear
Of Vice in Minds so simple and sincere.

Here the good Pauper, losing all the Praise
By worthy Deeds acquir'd in better days,
Breathes a few Months, then to his Chamber led,
Expires, while Strangers prattle round his Bed.

The grateful Hunter, when his Horse is old,
Wills not the useless Favourite to be sold;
He knows his former Worth, and gives him place
In some fair Pasture, till he's run his Race:
But has the Labourer, has the Seaman done
Less worthy Service, though not dealt to one?
Shall we not then contribute to their Ease,
In their old Haunts where ancient Objects please?
That, till their Sight shall fail them, they may trace
The well-known Prospect and the long lov'd Face.

The Oak, in distant Ages seen,
With far-stretch'd Boughs and Foliage fresh and green,
Though now its bare and forky Branches show
How much it lacks the vital Warmth below,
The stately Ruin yet our Wonder gains,
Nay, moves our Fity, without thought of Pains:
Much more shall real Wants and Cares of Age
Our gentler passions in their cause engage;-
Drooping and burthen'd with a weight of Years,
What venerable ruin Man appears!

How

1

How worthy Pity, Love, Respect, and Grief---
He claims Protection---he compels Relief ;---
And shall we send him from our view, to brave
The Storms abroad, whom we at home might save,
And let a Stranger dig our ancient Brother's Grave?
No!---we will shield him from the Storm he fears,
And when he falls, embalm him with our Tears.

THE FELON'S DREAM.

[From the same.

when first I came

Within his view, I fancy'd there was Shame,
I judg'd Resentment; I mistook the Air,---
These fainter Passions live not with Despair;
Or but exist and die :---Hope, Fear and Love,
Joy, Doubt, and Hate, may other Spirits move,
But touch not his, who every waking hour

Has one fix'd Dread, and always feels its power,

い

"But will not Mercy?"---No! she cannot plead
For such an Outrage ;----'twas a cruel Deed :
He stopp'd a timid Traveller;---to his Breast,.
With Oaths and Curses, was the Danger prest:

No! he must suffer; Pity we may find

For one Man's Pangs, but must not wrong Mankind.

Still I behold him, every thought employ'd
On one dire View!-- all others are destroy'd;
This makes his Features ghastly, gives the tone
Of his few words resemblance to a groan:
He takes his tasteless Food, and when 'tis done,
Counts up his Meals, now lessen'd by that one;
For Expectation is on Time intent,
Whether he brings us Joy or Punishment.

Yes! c'en in sleep th' impressions all remain,
He hears the Sentence and he feels the Chain;
He sees the Judge and Jury, when he shakes,
And loudly cries, " Not guilty," and awakes:
Then chilling Tremblings o'er his Body creep,
Till worn-out Nature is compell'd to sleep.

Now comes the Dream again: it shows each Scene,
With each small Circumstance that comes between---
The Call to Suffering and the very Deed---
There Crowds go with him, follow, and precede,

3A2

Some

Some heartless shout, some pity, all condemn,
While he in fancied Envy looks at them !
He seems the Place for that sad Act to see,
And dreams the very Thirst which then will be :
A Priest attends---it seems the one he knew
In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.

At this his Terrors take a sudden flight,
He sees his native Village with delight;
The House, the Chamber, where he once array'd
His youthful Person; where he knelt and pray'd:
Then too the Comforts he enjoy'd at home,
The Days of Joy; the Joys themselves are come;---
The Hours of Innocence;---the timid Look
Of his lov'd Maid, when first her hand he took
And told his hope; her trembling Joy appears,---
Her fore'd Reserve and his retreating Fears.

All now is present;---'tis a moment's gleam Of former Sunshine---stay, delightful Dream! Let him within his pleasant Garden walk, Give him her Arm, of Blessings let them talk.

Yes! all are with him now, and all the while
Life's early Prospects and his Fanny's Smile:
Then come his Sister and his Village Friend,
And he will now the sweetest Moments spend
Life has to yield:---No! never will he find
Again on Earth such Pleasure in his Mind:
He goes through shrubby Walks these Friends among,
Love in their Looks and Honour on their Tongue;
Nay, there's a Charm beyond what Nature shows,
The Bloom is softer and more sweetly glows;---
Pierc'd by no Crime, and urg'd by no desire
For more than true and honest Hearts require,
They feel the calm Delight, and thus proceed
Through the green Lane, then linger in the Mead,---
Stray o'er the Heath in all its purple bloom,---
And pluck the Blossom where the Wild-bees hum;
Then through the broomy Bound with ease they pass,
And press the sandy Sheep-walk's slender Grass,
Where dwarfish Flowers among the Gorse are spread,
And the Lamb brouzes by the Linnet's Bed;
Then 'cross the bounding Brook they make their way
O'er its rough Bridge---and there behold the Bay !---
The Ocean smiling to the fervid Sun---

The Waves that faintly fall and slowly run,

The