 | Young Arthur |  |
Deceiv'd and forsaken; heart broken, and stung
By the pangs of remorse, yet preserv'd from scorn's tongue,
(Her cheek told her anguish, her form told her shame)
Alice pin'd—more the object of pity than blame.
Her father with sorrow forgave, and conceal'd
What tho' poor made him poorer; to heaven appeal'd
For pardon for her who his hope had alloy'd,
For vengeance on him who that hope had destroy'd.
A boy was the issue of Alice's shame,
Whose birth was her death; on its natal night came
To the cot, or a witch, or a gypsey, and pray'd
For pity, nor vainly her meek appeal made;
The sire tho' oppress'd knew the selfish alone
In their own sorrows bury all claims but their own;
For safety who hopes must be eager to save;—
A shelter was pray'd and a shelter he gave.
By his fire, kindly ask'd, see the stranger appears,
And the bread he bestow'd was bedew'd with his tears;
His sorrow she learn'd, and a skill she possess'd,
And her service, officious to thank him, address'd;
The infant she nurs'd as the mother expir'd,
And, e'er miss'd, with her charge from the cottage retir'd:
In vain art and effort her flying to trace,
But a bag and a billet appear'd in her place.
By the pangs of remorse, yet preserv'd from scorn's tongue,
(Her cheek told her anguish, her form told her shame)
Alice pin'd—more the object of pity than blame.
Her father with sorrow forgave, and conceal'd
What tho' poor made him poorer; to heaven appeal'd
For pardon for her who his hope had alloy'd,
For vengeance on him who that hope had destroy'd.
A boy was the issue of Alice's shame,
Whose birth was her death; on its natal night came
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For pity, nor vainly her meek appeal made;
The sire tho' oppress'd knew the selfish alone
In their own sorrows bury all claims but their own;
For safety who hopes must be eager to save;—
A shelter was pray'd and a shelter he gave.
By his fire, kindly ask'd, see the stranger appears,
And the bread he bestow'd was bedew'd with his tears;
His sorrow she learn'd, and a skill she possess'd,
And her service, officious to thank him, address'd;
The infant she nurs'd as the mother expir'd,
And, e'er miss'd, with her charge from the cottage retir'd:
In vain art and effort her flying to trace,
But a bag and a billet appear'd in her place.
| Young Arthur | |