Classic Poem

To what sequester'd gloomy shade
Hath ever gentle Pity stray'd?
What brook is water'd from her eyes?
What gales convey her tender sighs?
Unworthy of her grateful lay,
She hath despis'd the great, the gay:
Nay, all the feelings she imparts
Are far estrang'd from human hearts.
Ah, Pity! whither would'st thou fly
From human heart, from human eye?
Are desert woods and twilight groves
The scenes the sobbing pilgrim loves?
If there thou dwell'st, O Pity, say
In what lone path you pensive stray?
I'll know thee by the lily's hue,
Besprinkl'd with the morning's dew:
For thou wilt never blush to wear
The pallid look and falling tear.
In broken cadence from thy tongue,
Oft have we heard the mournful song;
Oft have we view'd the loaded bier
Bedew'd with Pity's softest tear.
Her sighs and tears were ne'er deny'd
When innocence and virtue died.
But in this black and iron age,
Where Vice and all his demons rage,
Tho' bells in solemn peals are rung,
Tho' dirge in mournful verse is sung;
Soon will the vain parade be o'er,
Their name, their memory no more:
Who love and innocence despis'd,
And ev'ry virtue sacrific'd.
Here Pity, as a statue dumb,
Will pay no tribute to the tomb;
Or wake the memory of those
Who never felt for others woes.
Thou mistress of the feeling heart!
Thy pow'rs of sympathy impart.
If mortals would but fondly prize
Thy falling tears, thy passing sighs,
Then should wan poverty no more
Walk feebly from the rich man's door;
Humility should vanquish pride,
And vice be drove from virtue's side:
Then happiness at length should reign,
And golden age begin again.