The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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| IV. | No. IV.
“SAD AND SICK UNTO DEATH.” |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
169
No. IV. “SAD AND SICK UNTO DEATH.”
Sad and sick unto death, on his pallet reclining,
A pauper of England was heard to deplore;
The last beam of day on his pale cheek was shining,
From the sun whose return he might never see more.
No child to receive his last blessing was near him,—
No wife of his bosom to comfort and cheer him;
No kinsman to pity, no friend to revere him,
And smooth the rough way to a happier shore.
A pauper of England was heard to deplore;
The last beam of day on his pale cheek was shining,
From the sun whose return he might never see more.
No child to receive his last blessing was near him,—
No wife of his bosom to comfort and cheer him;
No kinsman to pity, no friend to revere him,
And smooth the rough way to a happier shore.
“Oh! Sons of my Country! forsaken I leave ye,
Let the lips of a dying man bid ye beware;
Of freedom and bread cruel men would bereave ye,
And force ye to struggle with famine and care.
Be brave, in the name of your fathers before ye,—
Be wise, for the sake of yourselves, I implore ye,—
Let hope and endeavour combine to restore ye
Those rights which ye plead for, but plead in despair.
Let the lips of a dying man bid ye beware;
Of freedom and bread cruel men would bereave ye,
And force ye to struggle with famine and care.
Be brave, in the name of your fathers before ye,—
Be wise, for the sake of yourselves, I implore ye,—
Let hope and endeavour combine to restore ye
Those rights which ye plead for, but plead in despair.
“I look back to childhood, when life was a pleasure,
And health and enjoyment came pure from above;
I look back to youth, when I found a new treasure
In the fair form of woman, who taught me to love;
I look back to manhood, when, fearing to sever,
I plighted my faith to my Mary for ever,
And strove, by unceasing and honest endeavour,
The joys of a husband and father to prove.
And health and enjoyment came pure from above;
I look back to youth, when I found a new treasure
In the fair form of woman, who taught me to love;
I look back to manhood, when, fearing to sever,
I plighted my faith to my Mary for ever,
And strove, by unceasing and honest endeavour,
The joys of a husband and father to prove.
170
“My cottage looked out on the meadows and mountains,
Where the odours of Summer came rich on the breeze;
My gardens were watered by Nature's own fountains;
I had kine in my pastures, and fruit on my trees:
My home was a heaven of domestic affection—
Even now there is joy in the sweet recollection—
And the dear ones who looked for my love and protection,
In dutiful fondness encircled my knees.
Where the odours of Summer came rich on the breeze;
My gardens were watered by Nature's own fountains;
I had kine in my pastures, and fruit on my trees:
My home was a heaven of domestic affection—
Even now there is joy in the sweet recollection—
And the dear ones who looked for my love and protection,
In dutiful fondness encircled my knees.
“But, alas! in a moment of strife and distraction,
My blessings were banished, my visions o'erblown;
My country was raging with tumult and faction,
And Anarchy threatened the cottage and throne:
The sweet dove of Peace on her olive lay bleeding,—
Stern fathers were cursing, sad mothers were pleading;
But the Lords of Oppression turned cold and unheeding
From thousands whom hunger had worn to the bone.
My blessings were banished, my visions o'erblown;
My country was raging with tumult and faction,
And Anarchy threatened the cottage and throne:
The sweet dove of Peace on her olive lay bleeding,—
Stern fathers were cursing, sad mothers were pleading;
But the Lords of Oppression turned cold and unheeding
From thousands whom hunger had worn to the bone.
“Then the Angel of Death brooded over my dwelling,
Where poverty reigned with perpetual gloom;
No tears could I shed, though my torn heart was swelling,
As my children were borne, one by one, to the tomb.
My wife mourned aloud with a mother's fond madness,
But her grief was subdued into silence and sadness,
Till her spirit was called to the regions of gladness,
And mine left alone to its desolate doom.
Where poverty reigned with perpetual gloom;
No tears could I shed, though my torn heart was swelling,
As my children were borne, one by one, to the tomb.
My wife mourned aloud with a mother's fond madness,
But her grief was subdued into silence and sadness,
Till her spirit was called to the regions of gladness,
And mine left alone to its desolate doom.
“Forlorn in the wide world, and weary with anguish,—
Expelled from the home which my forefathers gave,
I sought the sad spot where I now lie and languish,
From the stern laws of England a deathbed to crave.
I go to a land where no care can distress me,
Where no sorrow can come, where no power can oppress me,—
Where the beings I loved will receive me and bless me,—
Oh! God of the lowly! I pine for the grave!”
Expelled from the home which my forefathers gave,
I sought the sad spot where I now lie and languish,
From the stern laws of England a deathbed to crave.
I go to a land where no care can distress me,
Where no sorrow can come, where no power can oppress me,—
Where the beings I loved will receive me and bless me,—
Oh! God of the lowly! I pine for the grave!”
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