Where? where?—am I reduced to this— Thus sunk in poverty extreme? Can I not these vile things dismiss? No! they are things that more than seem: 260 This room with that cross-parting beam Holds yonder squalid tribe and me— But they were ever thus, nor dream Of being wealthy, favour’d, free!— XXXIV. Shall I a coat and badge receive, And sit among these crippled men, And not go forth without the leave Of him—and ask it humbly then— Who reigns in this infernal den— Where all beside in woe repine? 270 Yes, yes, I must: nor tongue nor pen Can paint such misery as mine! XXXV. Wretches! if ye were only poor, You would my sympathy engage; Or, were ye vicious, and no more, I might be fill’d with manly rage; Or had ye patience, wise and sage We might such worthy sufferers call; But ye are birds that suit your cage— Poor, vile, impatient, worthless all! 280 XXXVI. How came I hither? Oh, that Hag! ’Tis she the enchanting spell prepares; By cruel witchcraft she can drag My struggling being in her snares: Oh, how triumphantly she glares; But yet would leave me, could I make Strong effort to subdue my cares!— ’TIS MADE!—and I to Freedom wake! [HIS MOTHER’S WEDDING-RING.] [About 1813–4.] The ring so worn, as you behold, So thin, so pale, is yet of gold. The passion such it was to prove: Worn with life’s cares, love yet was love. [PARHAM REVISITED.] [1814.] Yes, I behold again the place, The seat of joy, the source of pain; It brings in view the form and face That I must never see again. The night-bird’s song that sweetly floats On this soft gloom—this balmy air, Brings to the mind her sweeter notes That I again must never hear. Lo! yonder shines that window’s light, My guide, my token, heretofore; 10 And now again it shines as bright, When those dear eyes can shine no more. Then hurry from this place away! It gives not now the bliss it gave; For Death has made its charm his prey, And joy is buried in her grave. FLIRTATION. A Dialogue. (May, 1816.)