Phenix Gazette

SELECTED POETRY.
COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR.
By ROBERT SOUTHEY.
And wherefore do the poor complain?
The rich man asked of me;
Come walk abroad with me, said I,
And I will answer thee.
‘Twas evening, and the frozen streets
Were cheerless to behold;
And we were wrapt and coated well,
But yet we felt the cold.
We met an old bare-headed man,
His locks were few and white;
I ask’d him what he did abroad,
In that cold winter night.
‘Twas bitter keen, indeed, he said,
But at home no fire had he;
And, therefore had he come abroad,
To ask for charity.
We met a young bare-footed child,
She begged loud and bold;
I ask’d her what she did abroad,
When the wind it blew so cold.
She said her father was at home,
and he lay sick in bed;
And, therefore was it she was sent
Abroad to beg for bread.
We saw a woman sitting down
Upon a stone to rest;
She had a baby at her back,
Another at her breast.
I asked her why she loitered there,
When the wind it blew so chill;
She turned her head and bade the child
That screamed behind, be still.
She told us that her husband served
A soldier far away;
And, therefore, to her parish, she
Was begging back her way.
We met a girl; her dress was loose,
And sunken was her eye;
Who with the wanton’s hollow voice,
Addressed the passersby.
I asked her what there was in guilt,
That could her heart allure;
To shame, disease, and late remorse,
She answered she was poor.
I turned me to the rich man then,
For silently stood he;
You ask me why the poor complain,
And these have answered thee.