 |
CHAPTER 1st.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
RECAPITULATION.
Such are the cultur'd fields, and landscapes fair—
Mankind thus manner'd—soil so rich and rare!
Where Nature, shap'd by Industry's controul,
Still fascinates the sight, and feasts the Soul!
Will Folly, then, prefer the fruitless plain,
Of herbage barren, never grac'd with grain?
Where the low-statur'd steer, and shabby sheep,
In rags, and leanness, constant vigils keep?
Wish Laws, humane, might general good undo,
Thro' false compassion for the needy few?
Mankind thus manner'd—soil so rich and rare!
Where Nature, shap'd by Industry's controul,
Still fascinates the sight, and feasts the Soul!
Will Folly, then, prefer the fruitless plain,
Of herbage barren, never grac'd with grain?
Where the low-statur'd steer, and shabby sheep,
In rags, and leanness, constant vigils keep?
Wish Laws, humane, might general good undo,
Thro' false compassion for the needy few?
No! general good, should, paramount, precede
The private interests of penurious Need—
Yet Penury should possess its lowly lot;
The humble blessings of a scanty cot—
A garden, herbs, and esculents, to yield—
A mead for milk—for corn a little field—
Where each might reign upon his petty throne,
And call each puny privilege his own!
So small a boon blank Pen'ry ought expect,
Not doom'd to pine, and perish, with neglect;
Nor, driv'n by Pow'r, from small paternal seat,
Make wretched Workhouse Lifes last, loath'd, retreat!
The private interests of penurious Need—
Yet Penury should possess its lowly lot;
The humble blessings of a scanty cot—
A garden, herbs, and esculents, to yield—
A mead for milk—for corn a little field—
Where each might reign upon his petty throne,
And call each puny privilege his own!
So small a boon blank Pen'ry ought expect,
Not doom'd to pine, and perish, with neglect;
Nor, driv'n by Pow'r, from small paternal seat,
Make wretched Workhouse Lifes last, loath'd, retreat!
Oh! I have seen; and seen with poignant grief!
Poor Peasants robb'd of such a sweet relief!
Where stern Prerogative, enforc'd by Pow'r,
With harpy-paw, seiz'd Indigence's dow'r!
With tyrant-talons pinch'd Want's tenderest part,
And squeez'd the final sigh from Sorrow's heart!
Where greedy Wealth, for cruel claims unpaid,
Lov'd Cots, and little gardens, dissarray'd;
With scanty favourite field, by force unkind,
To some contiguous farm, unjustly join'd!
Seen tears of Mothers—Fathers—Children—fall,
O'er murder'd fences—trees—and mould'ring wall!
Heard Widows—Orphans—pour their piteous moans
O'er the torn timbers, and the scatter'd stones!
Mark'd trembling hands hold out the empty purse,
While sobs, and sighs, and suffocating curse
Invok'd Heav'n's vengeance on the brutal breast
That robb'd their hearts of hope, their reins of rest!
Poor Peasants robb'd of such a sweet relief!
Where stern Prerogative, enforc'd by Pow'r,
With harpy-paw, seiz'd Indigence's dow'r!
With tyrant-talons pinch'd Want's tenderest part,
And squeez'd the final sigh from Sorrow's heart!
Where greedy Wealth, for cruel claims unpaid,
Lov'd Cots, and little gardens, dissarray'd;
With scanty favourite field, by force unkind,
To some contiguous farm, unjustly join'd!
Seen tears of Mothers—Fathers—Children—fall,
O'er murder'd fences—trees—and mould'ring wall!
Heard Widows—Orphans—pour their piteous moans
O'er the torn timbers, and the scatter'd stones!
Mark'd trembling hands hold out the empty purse,
While sobs, and sighs, and suffocating curse
Invok'd Heav'n's vengeance on the brutal breast
That robb'd their hearts of hope, their reins of rest!
|
CHAPTER 1st.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |