The Solitary, and other poems With The Cavalier, a play. By Charles Whitehead |
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 | The Solitary, and other poems |  |
There was a merchant, on whose face
A gravity of solemn grace
Dwelt ever; he was widely known,
Nor by the sons of wealth alone;
For the poor bless'd him, and the sad
Of heart were at his words made glad;
Such power o'er others' griefs he had.
And oft his pensive steps he bent
Towards a marble monument,
Whereat, when none were standing nigh,
He would oft pray, and with a sigh
Depart, and with a lingering look:—
The merchant's name was Philip Brooke.
A gravity of solemn grace
Dwelt ever; he was widely known,
Nor by the sons of wealth alone;
For the poor bless'd him, and the sad
Of heart were at his words made glad;
Such power o'er others' griefs he had.
And oft his pensive steps he bent
Towards a marble monument,
Whereat, when none were standing nigh,
He would oft pray, and with a sigh
Depart, and with a lingering look:—
The merchant's name was Philip Brooke.
| The Solitary, and other poems | |