 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
25
SOUVENIR.
During the endemial ravages of the spotted malignant fever in the state of Maine, the active benevolence of one man was known to meliorate the distress, and to preserve the existence of hundreds of human victims.
To that man, the compassionate friend and beneficent physician of the poor, the following lines were inscribed by
ONE OF THE GRATEFUL.
For him, “The Man of Ross”—your boast prolong,
Who love the Poet and the Muses' song.
Lives there, whose deeds an equal homage claim.
Yet shuns the tributary breath of fame,
To pale disease, and paler misery flies,
His dread the question of enquiring eyes.
He, born to bless, with secret step draws near
Where the proud sufferer drops the silent tear.
Who love the Poet and the Muses' song.
Lives there, whose deeds an equal homage claim.
Yet shuns the tributary breath of fame,
To pale disease, and paler misery flies,
His dread the question of enquiring eyes.
He, born to bless, with secret step draws near
Where the proud sufferer drops the silent tear.
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Where hard and deep the frost of fortune lay;
Pours light and life, like heaven's restoring ray:
Or where the murmuring poor by wants oppress'd,
Claim the large bounty of his ample breast,
Is known to loiter—till the bursting prayer,
Tells his touched soul a pitying God is there;
That prayer the rescued innocent shall raise,
With eyes that speak unutterable praise.
Pours light and life, like heaven's restoring ray:
Or where the murmuring poor by wants oppress'd,
Claim the large bounty of his ample breast,
Is known to loiter—till the bursting prayer,
Tells his touched soul a pitying God is there;
That prayer the rescued innocent shall raise,
With eyes that speak unutterable praise.
Do hoards of wealth this bounteous stream supply?
Ah! when could gold the richer feelings buy.
See the vain Midas, grasping mid his store,
Wait till the prosperous gales have wafted more.
While he who breathes to shelter and to save,
Repays his heaven the portioned boon it gave.
Lives there—like him, by Britain's bard defined,
A man of melting heart and matchless mind;
Who flies the grateful fame that would pursue?
Thou, Vaughan wilt “blush” to find the semblance true.
Ah! when could gold the richer feelings buy.
See the vain Midas, grasping mid his store,
Wait till the prosperous gales have wafted more.
While he who breathes to shelter and to save,
Repays his heaven the portioned boon it gave.
Lives there—like him, by Britain's bard defined,
A man of melting heart and matchless mind;
Who flies the grateful fame that would pursue?
Thou, Vaughan wilt “blush” to find the semblance true.
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |