 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
THE IMPRISONED DEBTOR.
The slave inhales the morning's healthful breeze,
And gambols gayly o'er the verdant plain;
But ah! the debtor tastes no joys like these,
But breathes the fetid atmosphere of pain.
And gambols gayly o'er the verdant plain;
But ah! the debtor tastes no joys like these,
But breathes the fetid atmosphere of pain.
The slave has friends—a wife and children dear,
Whose fond caresses every grief dispel;
But ah! no friend—no wife or child is near,
To bless the debtor's solitary cell.
Whose fond caresses every grief dispel;
But ah! no friend—no wife or child is near,
To bless the debtor's solitary cell.
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Near the sad couch on which his Emma weeps,
Her sickly fancy paints his wasting frame;
And from the cradle where her infant sleeps,
Unconscious lips pronounce a father's name.
Her sickly fancy paints his wasting frame;
And from the cradle where her infant sleeps,
Unconscious lips pronounce a father's name.
Alas, poor babe! thy father hears thee not;
In the cold jail his lonely lamp he trims,
To wake and muse upon our hapless lot,
The chains of avarice clanking on his limbs.
In the cold jail his lonely lamp he trims,
To wake and muse upon our hapless lot,
The chains of avarice clanking on his limbs.
But though, my child, our eyes dissolve in showers,
Our cheeks are strangers to the blush of shame,
For oh! one boast, one legacy is ours—
His spotless honor and unblemished fame.
Our cheeks are strangers to the blush of shame,
For oh! one boast, one legacy is ours—
His spotless honor and unblemished fame.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |