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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355418" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Occasional Address</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Written for the benefit of a distressed Player, detained<br>at Brighthelmstone for Debt, November 1792. <br>WHEN in a thousand swarms, the summer o'er,<br>The birds of passage quit our English shore,<br>By various routs the feather'd myriad moves;<br>The Becca-Fica seeks Italian groves,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more a Wheat-ear ; while the soaring files<br>Of sea-fowl gather round the Hebrid isles.<br>But if by bird-lime touch'd, unplumed, confined,<br>Some poor ill-fated straggler stays behind,<br>Driven from his transient perch, beneath your eaves<br>On his unshelter'd head the tempest raves,<br>While drooping round, redoubling every pain,<br>His mate and nestlings ask his help in vain.<br>So we, the buskin and the sock who wear,<br>And 'strut and fret,' our little season here,<br>Dismiss'd at length, as fortune bids divide--<br>Some (lucky rogues!) sit down on Thames's side;<br>Others to Liffy's western banks proceed,<br>And some--driven far a-field, across the Tweed:<br>But, pinion'd here, alas! I cannot fly:<br>The hapless, unplumed, lingering straggler I!<br>Unless the healing pity you bestow,<br>Shall imp my shatter'd wings, and let me go.<br>Hard is his fate, whom evil stars have led<br>To seek in scenic art precarious bread,<br>While still, through wild vicissitudes afloat,<br>A hero now, and now a Sans Culotte! <br>That eleemosynary bread he gains<br>Mingling, with real distresses, mimic pains.<br>See in our group, a pale, lank Falstaff stare!<br>Much needs he stuffing:--while young Ammon there<br>Rehearses--in a garret--ten feet square!<br>And as his soft Statira sighs consent,<br>Roxana comes not--but a dun for rent!<br>Here shiv'ring Edgar, in his blanket roll'd,<br>Exclaims--with too much reason, 'Tom's a-cold! '<br>And vainly tries his sorrows to divert,<br>While Goneril or Regan --wash his shirt!<br>Lo! fresh from Calais, Edward, mighty king!<br>Revolves--a mutton chop upon a string!<br>And Hotspur, plucking 'honour from the moon,'<br>Feeds a sick infant with a pewter spoon!<br>More bless'd the fisher, who undaunted braves<br>In his small bark, the impetuous winds and waves;<br>For though he plough the sea when others sleep,<br>He draws, like Glendower, spirits from the deep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And while the storm howls round, amidst his trouble,<br>Bright moonshine still illuminates the cobble.<br>Pale with her fears for him, some fair Poissarde ,<br>Watches his nearing boat; with fond regard<br>Smiles when she sees his little canvass handing,<br>And clasps her dripping lover on his landing.<br>More bless'd the peasant , who, with nervous toil<br>Hews the rough oak, or breaks the stubborn soil:<br>Weary, indeed, he sees the evening come,<br>But then, the rude, yet tranquil hut, his home,<br>Receives its rustic inmate; then are his,<br>Secure repose, and dear domestic bliss.<br>The orchard's blushing fruit, the garden's store,<br>The pendant hop, that mantles round the door,<br>Are his:--and while cheerful faggots burn,<br>'His lisping children hail their site's return.'<br>But wandering Players, 'unhousel'd, unanneal'd,'<br>And unappointed, scour life's common field,<br>A flying squadron!--disappointments cross 'em,<br>And the campaign concludes, perhaps, at Horsham.<br>Oh! ye, whose timely bounty deigns to shed<br>Compassion's balm upon my luckless head,<br>Benevolence, with warm and glowing breast,<br>And soft, celestial mercy, doubly bless'd!<br>Smile on the generous act!--where means are given,<br>To aid the wretched--is to merit heaven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charlotte+Smith">Charlotte Smith</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355418" data-title="Occasional Address de Charlotte Smith" data-description="Written for the benefit of a distressed Player, detained
at Brighthelmstone for Debt, November 1792. 
WHEN in a thousand swarms, the summer o'er,
The birds of passage quit our English shore,
By various routs the feather'd myriad moves;
The Becca-F..."></div>
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