 | Poetical Trifles |  |
42
THE DEBTOR.
Children of affluence, hear a poor man's pray'r!
O haste, and free me from this dungeon's gloom;
Let not the hand of comfortless despair
Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb!
O haste, and free me from this dungeon's gloom;
Let not the hand of comfortless despair
Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb!
Unus'd compassion's tribute to demand,
With clamorous din wake charity's dull ear,
Wring the slow aid from pity's loitering hand,
Weave the feign'd tale, or drop the ready tear.
With clamorous din wake charity's dull ear,
Wring the slow aid from pity's loitering hand,
Weave the feign'd tale, or drop the ready tear.
Far different thoughts employ'd my early hours,
To views of bliss, to scenes of affluence born;
The hand of pleasure strewed my path with flow'rs,
And every blessing hail'd my youthful morn.
To views of bliss, to scenes of affluence born;
The hand of pleasure strewed my path with flow'rs,
And every blessing hail'd my youthful morn.
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But ah, how quick the change! the morning gleam,
That cheer'd my fancy with her magic ray,
Fled like the gairish pageant of a dream,
And sorrow clos'd the evening of my day.
That cheer'd my fancy with her magic ray,
Fled like the gairish pageant of a dream,
And sorrow clos'd the evening of my day.
Such is the lot of human bliss below;
Fond hope a-while the trembling flow'ret rears;
'Till unforeseen descends the blight of woe,
And withers in an hour the pride of years.
Fond hope a-while the trembling flow'ret rears;
'Till unforeseen descends the blight of woe,
And withers in an hour the pride of years.
In evil hour, to specious wiles a prey,
I trusted:—(who from faults is always free?)
And the short progress of one fatal day
Was all the space 'twixt wealth and poverty.
I trusted:—(who from faults is always free?)
And the short progress of one fatal day
Was all the space 'twixt wealth and poverty.
Where could I seek for comfort, or for aid?
To whom the ruins of my state commend?
Left to myself, abandon'd, and betray'd,
Too late I found the wretched have no friend!
To whom the ruins of my state commend?
Left to myself, abandon'd, and betray'd,
Too late I found the wretched have no friend!
E'en he amid the rest, the favour'd youth,
Whose vows had met the tenderest warm return,
Forgot his oaths of constancy and truth,
And left my child in solitude to mourn.
Whose vows had met the tenderest warm return,
Forgot his oaths of constancy and truth,
And left my child in solitude to mourn.
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Pity in vain stretch'd forth her feeble hand
To guard the sacred wreaths by Hymen wove;
While pale-eyed avarice, from his sordid stand,
Scowled o'er the ruins of neglected love.
To guard the sacred wreaths by Hymen wove;
While pale-eyed avarice, from his sordid stand,
Scowled o'er the ruins of neglected love.
Though deeply hurt, yet swayed by decent pride,
She hush'd her sorrows with becoming art,
And faintly strove, with sickly smiles, to hide
The canker worm that prey'd upon her heart.
She hush'd her sorrows with becoming art,
And faintly strove, with sickly smiles, to hide
The canker worm that prey'd upon her heart.
Nor blam'd his cruelty—nor wish'd to hate
Whom once she lov'd—but pitied, and forgave:
Then unrepining yielded to her fate,
And sunk in silent anguish to the grave.
Whom once she lov'd—but pitied, and forgave:
Then unrepining yielded to her fate,
And sunk in silent anguish to the grave.
Children of affluence, hear a poor man's pray'r,
O haste, and free me from this dungeon's gloom!
Let not the hand of comfortless despair
Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb!
O haste, and free me from this dungeon's gloom!
Let not the hand of comfortless despair
Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb!
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