The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
THE BIRTH-DAY. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
333
THE BIRTH-DAY.
Here bounds the gaudy gilded chair,
Bedeck'd with fringe, and tassels gay;
The melancholy Mourner there
Pursues her sad and painful way.
Bedeck'd with fringe, and tassels gay;
The melancholy Mourner there
Pursues her sad and painful way.
Here, guarded by a motley train,
The pamper'd Countess glares along;
There, wrung by poverty and pain,
Pale Mis'ry mingles with the throng.
The pamper'd Countess glares along;
There, wrung by poverty and pain,
Pale Mis'ry mingles with the throng.
Here, as the blazon'd chariot rolls,
And prancing horses scare the crowd,
Great names, adorning little souls,
Announce the empty, vain, and proud.
And prancing horses scare the crowd,
Great names, adorning little souls,
Announce the empty, vain, and proud.
Here four tall lacquies slow precede
A painted dame, in rich array;
There the sad shiv'ring child of need
Steals barefoot o'er the flinty way.
A painted dame, in rich array;
There the sad shiv'ring child of need
Steals barefoot o'er the flinty way.
339
“Room, room! stand back!” they loudly cry,
The wretched poor are driv'n around
On ev'ry side, they scatter'd fly,
And shrink before the threat'ning sound.
The wretched poor are driv'n around
On ev'ry side, they scatter'd fly,
And shrink before the threat'ning sound.
Here, amidst jewels, feathers, flow'rs,
The senseless Duchess sits demure;
Heedless of all the anguish'd hours
The sons of modest worth endure.
The senseless Duchess sits demure;
Heedless of all the anguish'd hours
The sons of modest worth endure.
All silver'd, and embroider'd o'er,
She neither knows nor pities pain;
The Beggar freezing at her door
She overlooks with nice disdain.
She neither knows nor pities pain;
The Beggar freezing at her door
She overlooks with nice disdain.
The wretch whom poverty subdues
Scarce dares to raise his tearful eye;
Or if by chance the throng he views,
His loudest murmur is a sigh!
Scarce dares to raise his tearful eye;
Or if by chance the throng he views,
His loudest murmur is a sigh!
The poor wan mother, at whose breast
The pining infant craves relief,
In one thin tatter'd garment drest,
Creeps forth to pour the plaint of grief.
The pining infant craves relief,
In one thin tatter'd garment drest,
Creeps forth to pour the plaint of grief.
340
But ah! how little heeded here
The fault'ring tongue reveals its woe;
For high-born fools, with frown austere,
Contemn the pangs they never know.
The fault'ring tongue reveals its woe;
For high-born fools, with frown austere,
Contemn the pangs they never know.
“Take physic, Pomp!” let Reason say,
“What can avail thy trappings rare?
The tomb shall close thy glitt'ring day,
The beggar prove thy equal there!”
“What can avail thy trappings rare?
The tomb shall close thy glitt'ring day,
The beggar prove thy equal there!”
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |