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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538656" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Philanthropic Society</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye,<br>Retires in silence to her cell to die;<br>When o'er her child she hangs with speechless dread,<br>Faint and despairing of to-morrow's bread;<br>Who shall approach to bid the conflict cease,<br>And to her parting spirit whisper peace!<br>Who thee, poor infant, that with aspect bland<br>Dost stretch forth innocent thy helpless hand,<br>Shall pitying then protect, when thou art thrown<br>On the world's waste, unfriended and alone! <br>O hapless Infancy! if aught could move<br>The hardest heart to pity and to love<br>'Twere surely found in thee: dim passions mark<br>Stern manhood's brow, where age impresses dark<br>The stealing line of sorrow; but thine eye<br>Wears not distrust, or grief, or perfidy.<br>Though fortune's storms with dismal shadow lower,<br>Thy heart nor fears, nor feels the bitter shower;<br>Thy tear is soon forgotten; thou wilt weep,<br>And then the murmuring winds will hush thy sleep, <br>As 'twere with some sad music;--and thy smiles,<br>Unlike to those that cover cruel wiles,<br>Plead best thy speechless innocence, and lend<br>A charm might win the world to be thy friend.<br>But thou art oft abandoned in thy smiles,<br>And early vice thy easy heart beguiles.<br>Oh for some voice, that of the secret maze<br>Where the grim passions lurk, the winding ways<br>That lead to sin, and ruth, and deep lament,<br>Might haply warn thee, whilst yet innocent <br>And beauteous as the spring-time o'er the hills<br>Advancing, when each vale glad music fills!<br>Else lost and wandering, the benighted mind<br>No spot of rest again shall ever find;<br>Then the sweet smiles, that erst enchanting laid<br>Their magic beauty on thy look, shall fade;<br>Then the bird's warbled song no more shall cheer<br>With morning music thy delighted ear;<br>Fell thoughts and muttering passions shall awake,<br>And the fair rose the sullied cheek forsake! <br>As when still Autumn's gradual gloom is laid<br>Far o'er the fading forest's saddened shade,<br>A mournful gleam illumines the cold hill,<br>Yet palely wandering o'er the distant rill;<br>But when the hollow gust, slow rising, raves,<br>And high the pine on yon lone summit waves,<br>Each milder charm, like pictures of a dream,<br>Hath perished, mute the birds, and dark the stream!<br>Scuds the dreer sleet upon the whirlwind borne,<br>And scowls the landscape clouded and forlorn! <br>So fades, so perishes frail Virtue's hue;<br>Her last and lingering smile seems but to rue,<br>Like autumn, every summer beauty reft,<br>Till all is dark and to the winter left.<br>Yet spring, with living touch, shall paint again<br>The green-leaved forest, and the purple plain;<br>With mingling melody the woods shall ring,<br>The whispering breeze its long-lost incense fling:<br>But, Innocence! when once thy tender flower<br>The sickly taint has touched, where is the power <br>That shall bring back its fragrance, or restore<br>The tints of loveliness, that shine no more?<br>How then for thee, who pinest in life's gloom,<br>Abandoned child! can hope or virtue bloom!<br>For thee, exposed amid the desert drear,<br>Which no glad gales or vernal sunbeams cheer!<br>Though some there are, who lift their head sublime,<br>Nor heed the transient storms of fate or time;<br>Too oft, alas! beneath unfriendly skies,<br>The tender blossom shrinks its leaves, and dies! <br>Go, struggle with thy fate, pursue thy way;--<br>Though thou art poor, the world around is gay!<br>Thou hast no bread; but on thy aching sight<br>Proud luxury's pavilions glitter bright;<br>In thy cold ear the song of gladness swells,<br>Whilst vacant folly chimes her tinkling bells:<br>The careless crowd prolong their hollow glee,<br>Nor one relenting bosom thinks of thee.<br>Will not the indignant spirit then rebel,<br>And the dark tide of passions fearful swell! <br>Will not despight, perhaps, or bitter need,<br>Urge then thy temper to some direful deed!<br>Pale Guilt shall call thee to her ghastly band,<br>Or Murder welcome thee with reeking hand!<br>O wretched state, where our best feelings lie<br>Deep sunk in sullen, hopeless apathy!<br>Or wakeful cares, or gloomy terrors start,<br>And night and tempest mingle in the heart!<br>All mournful to the pensive sage's eye,<br>The monuments of human glory lie; <br>Fall'n palaces, crushed by the ruthless haste<br>Of time, and many an empire's silent waste,<br>Where, 'midst the vale of long-departed years,<br>The form of desolation dim appears,<br>Pointing to the wild plain with ruin spread,<br>The wrecks of age, and records of the dead!<br>But where a sight shall shuddering sorrow find,<br>Sad as the ruins of the human mind;--<br>As Man, by his GREAT MAKER raised sublime<br>Amid the universe, ordained to climb <br>The arduous height where Virtue sits serene;--<br>As Man, the high lord of this nether scene,<br>So fall'n, so lost!--his noblest boast destroyed,<br>His sweet affections left a piteous void!<br>But oh, sweet Charity! what sounds were those<br>That met the listening ear, soft as the close<br>Of distant music, when the hum of day<br>Is hushed, and dying gales the airs convey!<br>Come, hapless orphans, meek Compassion cried,<br>Where'er, unsheltered outcasts! ye abide <br>The bitter driving wind, the freezing sky,<br>_The oppressor's scourge, the proud man's contumely_;<br>Come, hapless orphans! ye who never saw<br>A tear of kindness shed on your cold straw;<br>Who never met with joy the morning light,<br>Or lisped your little prayer of peace at night;<br>Come, hapless orphans! nor, when youth should spring<br>Soaring aloft, as on an eagle's wing,<br>Shall ye forsaken on the ground be left,<br>Of hope, of virtue, and of peace bereft! <br>Far from the springtide gale, and joyous day,<br>In the deep caverns of Despair ye lay:<br>She, iron-hearted mother, never pressed<br>Your wasted forms with transport to her breast;<br>When none o'er all the world your 'plaint would hear,<br>She never kissed away the falling tear,<br>Or fondly smiled, forgetful, to behold<br>Some infant grace its early charm unfold.<br>She ne'er with mingling hopes and rising fears,<br>Sighed for the fortune of your future years: <br>Or saw you hand in hand rejoicing stray<br>Beneath the morning sun, on youth's delightful way.<br>But happier scenes invite, and fairer skies;<br>From your dark bed, children of woe, arise!<br>In caves where peace ne'er smiled, where joy ne'er came,<br>Where Friendship's eye ne'er glistened at the name<br>Of one she loved, where famine and despair<br>Sat silent 'mid the damp and lurid air,<br>The soothing voice is heard; a beam of light<br>Is cast upon their features, sunk and white; <br>With trembling joy they catch the stealing sound;<br>Their famished little ones come smiling round.<br>Sweet Infancy! whom all the world forsook,<br>Thou hast put on again thy cherub look:<br>Guilt, shrinking at the sight, in deep dismay<br>Flies cowering, and resigns his wonted prey.<br>But who is she, in garb of misery clad,<br>Yet of less vulgar mien? A look so sad<br>The mourning maniac wears, so wild, yet meek;<br>A beam of joy now wanders o'er her cheek, <br>The pale eye visiting; it leaves it soon,<br>As fade the dewy glances of the moon<br>Upon some wandering cloud, while slow the ray<br>Retires, and leaves more dark the heaven's wide way.<br>Lost mother, early doomed to guilt and shame,<br>Whose friends of youth now sigh not o'er thy name,<br>Heavy has sorrow fall'n upon thy head,<br>Yet think--one hope remains when thou art dead;<br>Thy houseless child, thy only little one,<br>Shall not look round, defenceless and alone, <br>For one to guide her youth;--nor with dismay<br>Each stranger's cold unfeeling look survey.<br>She shall not now be left a prey to shame,<br>Whilst slow disease preys on her faded frame;<br>Nor, when the bloom of innocence is fled,<br>Thus fainting bow her unprotected head.<br>Oh, she shall live, and Piety and Truth,<br>The loveliest ornaments, shall grace her youth.<br>And should her eye with softest lustre shine,<br>And should she wear such smiles as once were thine, <br>The smiles of peace and virtue they shall prove,<br>Blessing the calm abode of faithful love.<br>For ye who thus, by pure compassion taught,<br>Have wept o'er human sorrows;--who have sought<br>Want's dismal cell, and pale as from the dead<br>To life and light the speechless orphan led;--<br>Trust that the deed, in Mercy's book enrolled,<br>Approving spirits of the just behold!<br>Meanwhile, new virtues here, as on the wing<br>Of morn, from Sorrow's dreary shades shall spring; <br>Young Modesty, with fair untainted bloom;<br>And Industry, that sings beside her loom;<br>And ruddy Labour, issuing from his hatch<br>Ere the slant sunbeam strikes the lowly thatch;<br>And sweet Contentment, smiling on a rock,<br>Like a fair shepherdess beside her flock;<br>And tender Love, that hastes with myrtle-braid<br>To bind the tresses of the favoured maid;<br>And Piety, with unclasped holy book,<br>Lifting to heaven her mildly-beaming look: <br>These village virtues on the plain shall throng,<br>And Albion's hills resound a cheerful song;<br>Whilst Charity, with dewy eyelids bland,<br>Leading a lisping infant in her hand,<br>Shall bend at pure Religion's holy shrine,<br>And say, These children, GOD OF LOVE, are thine!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Lisle+Bowles">William Lisle Bowles</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=538656" data-title="The Philanthropic Society de William Lisle Bowles" data-description="INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS.

When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye,
Retires in silence to her cell to die;
When o'er her child she hangs with speechless dread,
Faint and despairing of to-morrow's bread;
Who shall approach to bid the conf..."></div>
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