* Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony,
As over thy shoulder thou lookest to hush the babe,
Bleakly the blinding snow beats in thy hagged face.

Thy husband will never return from the war again,
Cold is thy hopeless heart even as Charity-

Cold as thy famish'd babes-God help thee, widow'd One!
Poems, 1797

447

The Widow

Sapphics

OLD was the night wind, shelterless and naked,
OLD was the night wind, drifting fast the snows fell,

When a poor Wanderer struggled on her journey
Weary and way-sore.

Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflections;
Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom !
She had no home, the world was all before her,
She had no shelter.

Fast o'er the bleak heath rattling drove a chariot,
Pity me!' feebly cried the poor night wanderer.
'Pity me Strangers! lest with cold and hunger
Here I should perish.

'Once I had friends,-but they have all forsook me!
Once I had parents,-they are now in Heaven!
'I had a home once-I had once a husband-
'Pity me Strangers!

* This stanza was supplied by S. T. COLERIDGE.

'I had a home once-I had once a husband

'I am a

Widow poor and broken-hearted!'

Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining,
On drove the chariot.

6

On the cold snows she laid her down to rest her;
She heard a horseman, pity me!' she groan'd out;
Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining,
On went the horseman.

Worn out with anguish, toil and cold and hunger,
Down sunk the Wanderer, sleep had seiz'd her senses;
There, did the Traveller find her in the morning,

GOD had releast her.

Poems, 1797

448

N

GEORGE CANNING

Sapphics

1770-1827

The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

EEDY Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your Wheel is out of order-
Bleak blows the blast;-your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!

'Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day "Knives and

Scissars to grind O!"

'Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives? Did some rich man tyrannically use you?

Was it the 'Squire? or Parson of the Parish?

Or the Attorney?

'Was it the 'Squire for killing of his Game? or Covetous Parson for his Tythes distraining?

Or roguish Lawyer made you lose your little

All in a law-suit?

'(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by TOM PAINE?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eye-lids,

Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

KNIFE-GRINDER

Pitiful story.'

Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir, Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,

This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were

for to take me into

Constables came up
Custody; they took me before the Justice;
Justice OLDMIXON put me in the Parish-

Torn in a scuffle.

-Stocks for a Vagrant.

I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in A Pot of Beer, if you would give me Sixpence;

But for my part, I never love to meddle

With Politics, Sir.'

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

'I give thee Sixpence! I will see thee damn'd firstWretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance— Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!'

(Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his Wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.)

The Anti-Jacobin, No. 2, November 27, 1797

449

The Soldier's Friend

Dactylics

C

OME, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack
here:

I am the Soldier's Friend-here are some Books for
Nice clever Books, by TOM PAINE the Philanthropist.

you;

Here's Half-a-crown for you-here are some Handbills

too

Go to the Barracks, and give all the Soldiers some.

Tell them the Sailors are all in a Mutiny.

[Exit Drummer Boy, with Hand-bills and Half-a-crown.-Manet Soldier's Friend.

Liberty's friends thus all learn to amalgamate,
Freedom's volcanic explosion prepares itself,
Despots shall bow to the Fasces of Liberty,

Reason, Philosophy, ' fiddledum diddledum,'
Peace and Fraternity, higgledy, piggledy,
Higgledy, piggledy, ' fiddledum diddledum.'

Et cætera, et cætera, et cætera.
The Anti-Jacobin, No. 5, December 11, 1797

450

Song

By Rogero, in The Rovers

7HENE'ER with haggard eyes I view
This Dungeon, that I'm rotting in,

I think of those Companions true

Who studied with me at the U

―NIVERSITY of Gottingen,—

-NIVERSITY of Gottingen.

(Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds—

Sweet kerchief, check'd with heav'nly blue,
Which once my love sat knotting in!—
Alas! MATILDA then was true!-

At least I thought so at the U—

—NIVERSITY of Gottingen—

-NIVERSITY of Gottingen.

(At the repetition of this Line ROGERO clanks his Chains in cadence.)

Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew
Her neat Post-Waggon trotting in!
Ye bore MATILDA from my view.
Forlorn I languish'd at the U-

—NIVERSITY of Gottingen—
—NIVERSITY of Gottingen.