The New York Packet

POET's CORNER

THE OLD SOLDIER.

Pity the horrors of a poor old Man
GOLDSMITH.

LEAR was the blue expanse, the day serene,
All nature wore a universal green;
Smooth pass'd fair Hudson's wave, delightful flood!
As musing on its verdant banks I stood;
There wrap'd in praise oh bounteous God! to thee,
Who blest this happy Land with liberty:
And thou, the instrument in virtue's cause,
Who bravely freed us from oppressive laws!
An aged soldier in the voice of grief,
Shew'd his grey locks, and thus implor'd relief:--
"Oh! youth who yet a stranger to distress,
Feel not like me the extremes of wretchedness!
If in thy country's cause thy bosom glows,-
That country late o'erspread by barbarous foes-
In whose defence, life's richest blood was drain'd
From these poor limbs, while yet a drop remain'd.
Now worn with toil and impotent with age,
Soon shall I leave this joyless mortal stage.
Yet if humanity with genial heat,
Expands thy soul to actions good and great,
Some trifling help, which you may never need,
Oh! give, and Heav'n reward the pious deed.
Once gay in life and free from anxious care,
I thro' the furrows drove the shining share--
I saw my waving fields with plenty crown'd,
And yellow Ceres, joyous smile around;
Til rous'd by freedom at my country's call,
I left my peaceful home, and gave up all,
Now forc'd alas to beg my hard-earn'd bread,
This crazy body longs to join the dead:
Ungrateful country? when the danger's o'er,
Your bravest sons cold charity implore."
Children of wealth, in downy pleasure bred,
Pamper'd in ease, by fav'ring fortune led;
Who view with thoughtless eye the humble poor,
That glean their scanty meals from door to door:
Ah! heave for me a sympathetic sigh,
And wipe the falling tear from sorrow's eye.

Our great American Fabius.