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Sometime was caught in love's bewitching snare,
Nor was there ought their union to retard.
A num'rous family for to maintain,

He's forc'd to drudge and sweat on this same land; But for a neighb'ring lordly farmer's gain,

And want on him has laid her heavy hand.
In part of this same house, to ruin gone,
This family with poverty reside;
Here their hard fortune often they bemoan,
While they behold hard-by much pomp
Two perch of land of all his large estate,
His niggard landlord hardly would afford,
For this poor lab'ring man to cultivate,

and pride.

As garden ground :-be all such ways abhorr'd. On this small portion lately I beheld,

A few torn shrubs, enough to bring to mind,
The lovely garden, e'er they were expell'd,
This little paradise, by fates unkind.

From lab'ring hard a cold, bleak, wint'ry day,
He now comes home (if proper so to call
A place where wind and rain can find its way,
Thro' shatter'd panes, and crannies in the wall.)
By labour hard, and harder fare worn down,

Oh! could he here some consolation gain; But what's more cutting than the blackest frown, Assails his sight, and racks his soul with pain. His children's looks emphatically say,

'Give us some bread, dear father, give us bread, For we have tasted none this live long day, 'But are with cold and hunger almost dead.'

For want of clothing, food, and fire they quake,
Their sallow countenance and hollow eyes,
Affect him so, that he no rest can take,

And balmy sleep far from his pillow flies.
His wife in youth had seen far better days,
And goodly prospects then she had in view;
But now divested of their brilliant rays,

Her eyes meet his, and now his griefs renew, For oh! how piercing to his feeling mind,

To mark her languid look and faded cheek; Where in time past, when fortune was more kind, Lay rosy health, basking in dimple sleek. Then fresh and fair, just like the op'ning morn, When semblant gems more bright than di'monds shine!

And with bright lustre ev'ry field adorn,—

But transient is their splendor, so was thine. Ah me! how alter'd by corroding care,

That countenance which late shew'd peace within,
Once comely cheerful, and most charming fair,
But now become quite sallow, wan, and thin.
How can she otherwise than grieve to see
Her much-lov'd offspring wretched and distrest?
What must a tender mother's feelings be?

What bitter anguish oft must rack her breast?
Yet, anxiously concern'd his pains to sooth,
Assiduously she strives to hide her own;
But all her care his rugged path to smooth,
To his discerning mind is fully known.
Thus are they both with racking anguish torn,
That to be worse is hardly possible;

Their case is now so wretched and forlorn,

Their hearts of poignant grief are now so full, That neither of them can communicate

Unto the other, half their pains and fears, About the present or their future fate;

But join in shedding floods of briny tears. Ye Englishmen ! who bear a father's name,

Reflect awhile, and make the case your own;— Would not deep anguish penetrate your frame? Would you not cry, where, where, is comfort flown?

Many there are, it cannot be deny'd,

Who, tho' they're not in such a wretched state,
As those above, these times severely chide;
And comfort fair has left them to their fate,
To labor hard from misty morn's first dawn,
When vapours grey o'er verdant valleys glide;
Each following day their lengthen'd labour's drawn,
Till ev'ning shades the face of nature hide.
Nor thus can meagre want be kept away,

From num'rous families, unhappy case;
Impell'd against their will, the sabbath day
Is constantly profan'd in ev'ry place.
For many, who make conscience of their ways,
And fain would their Almighty Maker please;
Would spend the sacred day in pray'r and praise,
Are forcibly impell'd to one of these,
Either to disobey high Heav'n's command,

By not performing what they know they should; Or else (how painful !) on the other hand,