University of Virginia Library


129

THE PAUPER.

See that poor pauper pause to listen,
Watch the light break on his brow;
See how his poor dim eyes glisten:
I know that he is thinking now
Of the country sweet and green,
Of farms where early cocks are crowing,
And many a far-off flowery scene,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing:”
Of the lilies-of-the-valley,
That grew 'mid those remembered scenes,
Where he again would fondly dally,
And love to live had he the means;
He has not, but with age now bent,
And gray head 'neath the burden bowing,
That sound his thoughts have homeward sent
Where his loved flowers are “All-a-blowing:”
Where he with angling rod in hand
The happy hours did oft beguile;
Did by the silvery river stand,
Or linger by the rustic stile.
And now they all are dead and gone,
Those loved ones—and his eyes are thawing;
For in the workhouse there are none
Care for his flowers “All-a-blowing.”
Hither, by false hopes allured,
He came, and in this busy city

130

Hard privation long endured,
None to love him, none to pity.
That sound old memories doth awaken
Of branches waving, rivers flowing,
Flower beds by the breezes shaken,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”