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 the channel to a stream of tears.
Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a residence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode :
(Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!)
Here as I crav'd a morsel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed.
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.
Heaven sends misfortunes-why should we repine?
'Tis 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,
But ah! oppression forc'd me from my cot
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter-once the comfort of my age!
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam
My tender wife-sweet soother of my care! Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, 'Fell-ling'ring fell, a victim to despair.
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
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
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark.
So, stooping down from hawthorn top
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent
Harangued him thus, right eloquent :-
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same Power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard this short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real interest to discern;
That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent ;
Respecting, in each other's case,
The gifts of nature and of grace.
Those Christians best deserve the name,
Who studiously make peace their aim :-
Peace, both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.
The stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The cottage-homes of England!
By thousands on her plains
They are smiling o'er the silvery brook
And round the hamlet-fanes
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves
The free fair homes of England!
Long, long in hut and hall
May hearts of native proof be rear'd
To guard each hallow'd wall!
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.
Ye mariners of England!
That guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again,
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep:
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages long and loud,
And the stormy winds do blow
The meteor-flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.
I AM monarch of all I survey
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
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