 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE CITY OF THE PLAIN.
There was a city once, the rabbins teach,
Whereto there came one day to seek for alms,
One of those needy wights with whining speech,
Who for your dole extend their earnest palms.
Whereto there came one day to seek for alms,
One of those needy wights with whining speech,
Who for your dole extend their earnest palms.
Each generous citizen who heard him sue,
Gave him a coin which bore the giver's name;
To bear these gifts he had enough to do—
But lo! how soon his joy to sorrow came!
Gave him a coin which bore the giver's name;
To bear these gifts he had enough to do—
But lo! how soon his joy to sorrow came!
Not one in all the place would give him food,
Not one in all the place a crumb would sell;
Famished, though rich in coin, the beggar stood—
He could not even steal—they watched too well.
Not one in all the place a crumb would sell;
Famished, though rich in coin, the beggar stood—
He could not even steal—they watched too well.
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With hunger weak he tottered up and down,
The jeering crowd gave way on either side;
No food, no drink for him, within the town;
And there, with all his gold upon him, died.
The jeering crowd gave way on either side;
No food, no drink for him, within the town;
And there, with all his gold upon him, died.
Then, each, devoid of shame, when as he lay,
And, eager from the dead man's store to draw,
The coin that had his name on bore away—
Then left the carcass for the dogs to gnaw.
And, eager from the dead man's store to draw,
The coin that had his name on bore away—
Then left the carcass for the dogs to gnaw.
“Ah, piteous deed!” I hear a voice complain—
“A stricken man to such a fate to doom;
Well did the fire from Heaven finally rain
Upon the town such wretches to consume.”
“A stricken man to such a fate to doom;
Well did the fire from Heaven finally rain
Upon the town such wretches to consume.”
But stay! have we no City of the Plain?
Will not our land the same reproaches bear?
When sons of genius ask, do they not gain
That empty laud which only proves a snare?
Will not our land the same reproaches bear?
When sons of genius ask, do they not gain
That empty laud which only proves a snare?
Marked with our names we give the coin of praise;
We load them with our gifts of idle breath,
Which buy no comfort for their weary days,
Nor yet preserve them from a beggar's death.
We load them with our gifts of idle breath,
Which buy no comfort for their weary days,
Nor yet preserve them from a beggar's death.
They live in wretchedness and starving die;
For bread our empty honors will not pay;
And then, as in their wooden house they lie,
The praise we gave we fain would take away.
For bread our empty honors will not pay;
And then, as in their wooden house they lie,
The praise we gave we fain would take away.
There disappointment checks our base desire;
We cannot rob the dead one of his fame;
That kindles at our efforts into fire,
Consuming those who strive to quench its flame.
We cannot rob the dead one of his fame;
That kindles at our efforts into fire,
Consuming those who strive to quench its flame.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |