The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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ON PITY. |
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 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
240
ON PITY.
Sweet is it to the warrior's ear
To mark the clamorous battle cry,
But sweeter far the crystal tear
That falls from Pity's moistened eye
And savage is the cruel beast
That prowls round Gondar's lofty tower,
But harder far that human breast
That ne'er has felt soft Pity's power.
To mark the clamorous battle cry,
But sweeter far the crystal tear
That falls from Pity's moistened eye
And savage is the cruel beast
That prowls round Gondar's lofty tower,
But harder far that human breast
That ne'er has felt soft Pity's power.
But see, with ostentatious sneer
Will Laura precious gifts bestow;
Emilia often sheds the tear,
But Affectation bids it flow.
These do not own compassion's reign;
True pity acts not such a part;
It flies the rich, it flies the vain,—
It dwells in kind Sophia's heart
Will Laura precious gifts bestow;
Emilia often sheds the tear,
But Affectation bids it flow.
These do not own compassion's reign;
True pity acts not such a part;
It flies the rich, it flies the vain,—
It dwells in kind Sophia's heart
Whene'er the poor, worn out with woe,
Oppressed with trouble, years, and grief,
From breasts which feel compassion's glow
Solicit mild the kind relief,—
Then Laura opes her ready hand,
The tear bedews Emilia's eye;
Sophia quits the selfish band
To soothe the pangs of poverty.
Oppressed with trouble, years, and grief,
From breasts which feel compassion's glow
Solicit mild the kind relief,—
242
The tear bedews Emilia's eye;
Sophia quits the selfish band
To soothe the pangs of poverty.
Gold can but present help afford;
Emilia's tear is wiped away;
Sophia feels her just reward,
A bliss which never will decay,
This, the reward of virtue, this
Th' unfeeling heart will never know:
It is the only earthly bliss
Which is not mixed with earthly woe.
Emilia's tear is wiped away;
Sophia feels her just reward,
A bliss which never will decay,
This, the reward of virtue, this
Th' unfeeling heart will never know:
It is the only earthly bliss
Which is not mixed with earthly woe.
1815.
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |