Lynn: A Poem

The scene is grand! The eye surveys the sea,

The land, hill, dale, deep chasm and rugged cliff,

The various rows of ornamental trees,

The natural copse and long neglected brush;

Here purling streams, that insulate the plain,

And in their course invite the numerous fry;

Their temples to the Living God arise,

There various orders offer up their praise.

….

There, too, the drivelling idiot sits, nor moves

The Lice-long day; with broad, unmeaning face,

And vacant stare, she laughs the time away,

Nor knows nor cares if friend or foe be near.

There, too, his hat with evergreen entwined,

Walking and muttering low, the maniac swears,

Or prays, alike unmeaning or unmeant;

And there the maid by faithless friend undone,

Flattered, adored, seduced-then curst and cast

A houseless wanderer on a scorning world.

Their wives neglected by the brutes, who woo'd,

Who wept and even swore they'd die for love.

The monsters too, who faithless to their beds,

There find disease and shame, and loathsome

           death.

There, too the helpless find a sad retreat;

The lame, decrepid, and the friendless poor;

They, who, in better days, with plenty blest,

Have dealt the dole of bounty from their door,

Now eat the bitter bread of poverty,

And press the joyless couch, and wish for death.