Ode. Sacred to the Memory of Mrs Oswald of Auchincruive

Ode-sacred to the memory of Mrs O- of A-

Dweller in yon dungeon dark,
Hangman of creation; mark!
Who in widow-weeds appears,
Laden with unhonored years?
Noosing with care a bursting purse,
Baited with many a deadly curse?

Strophe.

View the withered Beldam's face;
Can thy keen inspection trace
Aught of Humanity's sweet, melting grace?
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows,
Pity's flood there never rose;
See these hands, ne'er stretched to save,
Hands that took-- but never gave. -
The Great despised her and her wealth,
The Poor-man breathed a curse by stealth. --
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest,
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest!
She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest!

Antistrophe----

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes!
(Awhile forbear, ye torturing fiends;)
Seest thou whose steps, unwilling, hither bends?
No fallen angel kicked from upper skies;
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate:
Doomed to share thy fiery fate
She, tardy, hell-ward plies. ----

Epode

And are they of no more avail,
Ten thousand glittering pounds a year?
In other worlds can Mammon fail,
Omnipotent as he is here?
O bitter mockery of the pompous bier,
While down the wretched Vital-part is driven!
The cave-lodged beggar, with a conscience clear,
Expires in rags, unknown, & goes to Heaven.----
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