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28
A PROSPECT OF
A Character.
Spare is his food, and ragged his attire,
Niggard his thoughts, thoughts which to nought aspire;
No social footsteps tread his cobweb'd hall;
No faithful menial joyful hears his call;
No tender partner sooths his heavy toil,
Nor prattling infant cheers him with a smile.
From morn to night the gloomy days roll on,
As polar winters, never cheer'd by sun;
Broke are the painted windows, which of old
Illum'd his halls, and fenc'd them from the cold:
Dark is the cheerful hearth, from whence, of yore,
The heap'd up faggot blaz'd along the floor:
The graceful scutcheon, once the pride of age,
The source of generous lesson from the sage;
Whilst the young bosom, caught by virtue's fire,
Grasp'd hard the falchion of his noble sire;
The graceful scutcheon, trembling to its doom,
In solemn grandeur decks th' neglected room.
Hence sick'ning scenes! the heart with grief opprest,
With fainter impulse strikes the languid breast.
Niggard his thoughts, thoughts which to nought aspire;
No social footsteps tread his cobweb'd hall;
No faithful menial joyful hears his call;
No tender partner sooths his heavy toil,
Nor prattling infant cheers him with a smile.
From morn to night the gloomy days roll on,
As polar winters, never cheer'd by sun;
Broke are the painted windows, which of old
Illum'd his halls, and fenc'd them from the cold:
Dark is the cheerful hearth, from whence, of yore,
The heap'd up faggot blaz'd along the floor:
The graceful scutcheon, once the pride of age,
The source of generous lesson from the sage;
Whilst the young bosom, caught by virtue's fire,
Grasp'd hard the falchion of his noble sire;
The graceful scutcheon, trembling to its doom,
In solemn grandeur decks th' neglected room.
Hence sick'ning scenes! the heart with grief opprest,
With fainter impulse strikes the languid breast.
