Ah me! I hear a horse upon the road
Forgive me, Providence, forgive me, man!
I tremble thro' the heart-the clattering hoof
Re-echoes thro' the wood
And lights me to my prey :
Behold a being born like thee to live,
And yet endow'd with fortitude to die,
Were his alone the pang of poverty:
But a dear wife, now starving far from hence,
Seven hapless hungry children at her side,
A frowning world, and an ungrateful friend
Urge him to actions which his heart abhors:
Assist us save us-pity my despair,
O'erlook my fault, and view me as a man.
A fellow mortal sues to thee for bread,
Invites thy charity — invites thy heart :
Perhaps thou art a husband, and a father:
Think if thy babes, like mine, dejected lay
And held their little hands to thee for food,
What would'st thou have me do, wert thou like me,
Driv'n to distress like mine. Oh! then-befriend,
Make our sad case your own
Nor will I force what bounty cannot spare:
Let me not take, assassin-like, the boon
Which, humbly bending at thy feet, I beg,
Ne'er till this night-
[Traveller gives him a purse.]
Heaven speed thee on thy way!
May plenty ever sit within thy house!
If thou hast children, angels guard their steps!
Health scatter roses round each little cheek,
And Heaven at last reward thy soul with bliss!
He's gone and left his purse within my hand.
Thou much desired! thou often sought! in vain.
at length I hold thee fast :
Swift let me fly upon the wings of love,
And bear the blessing to my fainting babes,
Then gently take Louisa in my arms,
And whisper to the mourner happier days.
Hark! what noise was that?
"Twas the dull bittern booming o'er my head;
The raven follows her- The dusky air
Thickens each form upon the cheated sight:
Ha! somewhat shot across the way, methinks!
"Tis but the shadow of this stripling tree,
That throws his baby arms as blows the gale.
Each object terrifies Guilt's anxious heart!
The robber trembles at
O Heaven! what have I done?
Shall then Louisa live on spoil?
Shall my poor children eat the bread of theft?
And have I, at the peaceful hour of night,
Like some malignant thing that prowls the wood
Have I! -a very felon! sought relief
By means like these? And yet the traveller
Gave what I asked as if in charity;
Perhaps his heart, compassionately kind,
Gave from an impulse it could not resist :
Perhaps 'twas fear — lest murder might ensue :
Alas! I bore no arms no blood I sought!
How knew he that? Yet sure he might perceive
The hardened villain spoke not in my air,
Trembling and cold, my hand was join'd with his,
My knees shook hard, my feeble accents fail'd,
The father's husband's - tears bedew'd my face,
And virtue almost triumph'd o'er despair!
Yet strikes the thought severely on my heart,
The deed was foul
Soft- let me pause awhile!
Again the moon-beam breaks upon the eye,
Guilt bears me to the ground—I faint! I fall!
The means of food should still be honest means,
Else were it well to starve !
THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE.
My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by,
With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck and dark and fiery eye,
Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged speed,
I may not mount on thee again, thou'rt sold, my Arab steed.
Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind-
The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind.
The stranger hath thy bridle-rein-thy master hath his gold— Fleet limb'd and beautiful, farewell, thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold.
Farewell! these free untired limbs full many a mile must roam,
To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home.
Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare-
The silky mane I braided once, must be another's care.
The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee,
Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be.
Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the sandy plain,
Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again.
Yes thou must go, the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky
Thy master's home, from all of these, my exiled one must fly.
Thy proud dark eye shall grow less proud, thy step become less fleet,
And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet.
Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright,
Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light;
And when I raise my dreaming arm, to check or cheer thy speed,
Then must I startling wake, to feel thou'rt sold, my Arab steed.
Ah, rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,
Till foam wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side,
And the rich blood that is in thee, swells in thy indignant pain;
Till careless eyes that rest on thee, may count each started vein.
Will they ill use thee? If I thought—but no, it cannot be—
Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed, so gentle, yet so free.
And yet, if haply when thou'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn,
Can the hand which casts thee from it now, command thee to return?
Return, alas! my Arab steed, what shall thy master do,
When thou, who wert his all of joy, hath vanish'd from his view; When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering
Thy bright form for a moment, like the false mirage appears?
Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary foot alone,
Where with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on.
And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think,
It was here he bow'd his glossy neck, when last I saw him drink.
When last I saw thee drink? Away! the fever'd dream is o'er,
I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more.
They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong,
They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long!
Who said that I had given thee up, who said that thou wert sold?
'Tis false, 'tis false, my Arab steed, I fling them back their gold:
Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains,
Away! who overtakes us now, shall claim thee for his pains.
WASTE treasure like water, ye noble and great!
Spend the wealth of the world to increase your estate;
Pile up your temples of marble, and raise
Columns and domes, that the people may gaze
And wonder at beauty, so gorgeously shown
By subjects more rich than the king on his throne.
Lavish and squander-for why should you save
"The sweat of the poor and the blood of the brave?"
Pour wine into goblets, all crusted with gems-
Wear pearls on your collars and pearls on your hems;
Let diamonds in splendid profusion outvie
The myriad stars of a tropical sky!
Though from the night of the fathomless mine
These may be dug at your banquet to shine,
Little care ye for the chains of the slave,
"The sweat of the poor and the blood of the brave."
Behold, at your gates stand the feeble and old;
Let them burn in the sunshine and freeze in the cold:
Let them starve; though a morsel, a drop will impart
New vigor and warmth to the limb and the heart:
You taste not their anguish, you feel not their pain,
Your heads are not bare to the wind and the rain-
Must wretches like these of your charity crave
"The sweat of the poor and the blood of the brave?"
An army goes out in the morn's early light,
Ten thousand gay soldiers equipp'd for the fight;
An army comes home at the closing of day,
O, where are their banners, their goodly array?
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