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And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek

Has been the channel to a flood of tears.


Yon house, erected on the rifinig ground,

With tempting aspect; drew me from my road; For Plenty there a residence has found,

And Grandeur á magnificent abode.


Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !

Here, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread,

A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,

To seek a shelter in an humbler thed.


Oh! take me to your hospitable dome ;

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold ! Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,

For I am poor, and miserably old.


Plurimus ore meo sulcus, quo Aumina manent,

Flumina, quæ totiès fudit acerba dolor.


Quò domus ista jugis acclivibus alta videtur,

Traxit eò species perfida, spesque pedem ; Has fibi fecuras delegit Copia fedes,

Has intra fulget Pompa superba fores.


Ah! sors infelix inopi, feffoque senectâ !

Dum miser hìc menfæ fragmina parva rogo,

Inflatus foribus pinguedine fervus abegit;

I procùl hìnc, dixit, tecta minora pete.'


Ne mihi perfugium, tua tecta benigna recuses,

Quem premit hæc Boreæ vis, penetratque gelu ; Jam jamque in tumulo mea membra senilia ponam,

Et mors conficiet tædia, morsque preces.


Should I reveal the sources of my grief, ,

If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not with-hold the kind relief,

And tears of pity would not be represt.


Heav'n sends misfortunes; why should we repine ?

see ;

'Tis heav'n has brought me to the state you And your

condition may be soon like mine,

The child of sorrow and of misery.


A little farm was my paternal lot;

Then, like the lark, I sprightly hail'd the morn;

But ah! oppreffion forc'd 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,

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Si, bone, collibuit tantos audire labores,

Humanæ fortis tam miseranda mala,

Gutta memor nostri faltèm stillabit ab ore,

Succurresque malis, fi tua corda movent.


Di statuunt adverfa, et sunt patienda ; mihique

Arbitrio fortem Dî ftatuêre suo ;

Atque tibi forsàn nectit crudelia fatum,

Te, moriture, manet non fugienda dies.


Tempus erat, lætus quo patria rura colebam,

Gratabar reducem tunc, ut alauda, diem;

Eheu! fed casulam mihi vis invidit iniqua,

Et'periit morbo grex meus, igne seges.


Reftabat fenii spes ultima, chara puella,

Quam mihi fubduxit perfidus arte malâ ;


Is cast, abandon’d, on the world's wide stage,

And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam :


My tender wife, sweet foother of my care!

Struck with fad 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.


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