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Amidst thy desart walks the lapwing flies,
The sounds of population fail, No chearful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, But all the bloomy flush of life is fled. All but yon widow'd solitary thing, That feebly bends besides the plashy spring ; She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mant’ling crésses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn, She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
The man of wealth and pride, Takes up a space that many poor supply'd ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage and hounds.
Where then, ah, where shall poverty reside,
If to the city sped-What waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn ponips
display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where pleasure holds her midnight
reign, Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train ; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Ye friends to truth, ye statesman who survey
TAKE physic, pomp ;
Lear, act iii. Ah little think the
licentious proud, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround;
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
Their's is yon house that holds the parish
poor, Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door; There where the putrid vapours flagging play, And the dull wheel hums doleful through the
day : There children dwell who know no parents care, Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there ; Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed, Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed ; Dejected widows with unheeded tears,
Dejected widows with unheeded tears,
Here too the sick their final doom receive,
Say ye, opprest by some fantastic woes,
Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patch’d, gives