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TROILUS AND CRESIDA.
O star, of which I lost have all the light,
As soon as he this song had thus sung through,
Thy horns were old as now upon that morrow, When hence did journey my bright Lady dear, That cause is of my torment and my sorrow; 136 For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and clear, For love of God, run fast above thy sphere; For when thy horns begin once more to spring, Then shall she come, that with her bliss may
The day is more, and longer every night
145 That Phäeton his son is yet alive, His too fond father's car amiss to drive.
Upon the walls fast also would he walk,
And certainly this wind, that more and more 155
A weary while in pain he tosseth thus,
POEMS REFERRING TO THE
PERIOD OF OLD AGE.
THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR.
The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man here
described belongs, will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and, mostly, old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighbourhood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at different houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in
provisions. I saw an aged Beggar in my walk; And he was seated, by the highway side, On a low structure of rude masonry Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they Who lead their horses down the steep rough road
5 May thence remount at ease. The aged Man Had placed his staff across the broad smooth
stone That overlays the pile; and, from a bag All white with flour, the dole of village dames, He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; And scanned them with a fixed and serious
look Of idle computation. In the sun,
Upon the second step of that small pile,
birds Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal, Approached within the length of half his staff,
Him from my childhood have I known; and
then He was so old, he seems not older now; He travels on, a solitary Man, So helpless in appearance, that for him The sauntering Horseman throws not with a
slack And careless hand his alms upon the ground, But stops,--that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old Man's hat; nor quits him so, Lut still, when he has given his horse the
rein, Watches the aged Beggar with a look Sidelong, and half-reverted. She who tends The toll-gate, when in summer at her door She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees The aged Beggar coming, quits her work, And lifts the
latch for him that he may pass. The post-boy, when his rattling wheels o’ertake The aged Beggar in the woody lane, Shouts to him from behind; and, if thus warned The old man does not change his course, the
boy Turns with less noisy wheels to the roadside, Ind passes gently by, without a curse Upon his lips or anger at his heart.
He travels on, a solitary Man;
But deem not this Man useless. —States
men ! ye