Page:Beggar's petition.pdf/4



“A little farm was my paternal lot,

“Then like the lark, I sprightly hail’d the morn!

“But, ah! oppression drove me from my cot,

“My cattle dy’d, and blighted was my corn!

“My daughter, once the comfort of my age,

“Lur’d by a villain from her native home;

“Is call abandon’d on the world’s wide stage,

“And doom’d in scanty poverty to roam.

“My tender wife, sweet soother of my care,

“Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,

“Fell, ling’ring fell, a victim to despair!

“And left the world to wretchedness and me.

“Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,

“Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door,

“Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

“Oh! give relief, and Heav’n will bless your store.”

“Enter, my aged friend!” reply’d the host.

"Enter my humble mansion—child of wo!

“No pompous grandeur does my table boast—

“Such as I have, I freely will bestow—”