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And where contending atoms roar,
Why should we fondly brood on care,
Yorkshire - 1771-1798.
The poems of this promising young man, were printed
after his death for the benefit of his family. Of the then selected pieces, the first has been chosen as one of his latest and best productions; the second for the singular
circumstances which occasioned it, and the last as Į a specimen of the Yorkshire Dialect.
THROUGH the fields, as I stray'd, when the skies
were serene, When the corn’s pendant ears wildly waved in
the breeze; When bustling at work the gay reapers were seen, And Pomona's rich bounties hung ripe on the
A poor Beggar I saw, as he sat on the ground; And I heard him oft sigh, and thus plaintively
speak, Whilst his eye sad survey'd the gay prospect
around, And pensive dejection sat pale on his cheek:
• Amidst the gay scenes now unfolded to sight,
• It is almost a crime to be heard to complain ; * But, alas ! can the bosom partake of delight, • That'struggles with want, and is tortured with
pain ? "From the door, where I craved but a morsel of
bread, • When spurn'd with rude taunts, I'm compelled
to depart; • When houseless I rove, even unblest with a shed, • How can pleasure admittance obtain to my
. From Nature's great Parent the bounties that
flow, •One would think, should awaken the kindness
of man, Like him out of plenty a part to bestow, • And give to the wretched the pittance he can.
• There was once, when the blessings of fortune
were mine, · When hope bade me count certain bliss as my
lot; When the soul of the wanderer could not repine,
Who entreated an alms at the door of my cot.
• But, alas ! stern misfortune's rude hand has now
torn • From my heart, every joy made it pleasure to
live ; * And hopeless, abandon’d, I wander forlorn,
*To request the relief I exulted to give.'
Ah me! and I heard him thus pensively wail,
And I past, as it seem'd quite regardlessly by, As the Beggar repeated his sorrowful tale,
Yes a tear—a soft tear gently stole from my eye.
From thy look, from the language of looks I
believe, Thou didst think I was hard, and unfeeling,
I know; But my heart yes, my heart deeply sigh’d to re
lieve What I had not, poor Beggar, I could not be