Classic Poem

With open hands, and mourning locks dependant,
Bounty stepp'd forth to wail the dead man's loss:
On her were Love and Plenty both attendant:
Tears in her eyes, arms folded quite across,
Sitting by him upon a turf of moss,
She sigh'd, and said, Here lies the knight deceas'd,
Whose bounty Bounty's glory much increas'd.

His looks were liberal, and in his face
Sat frank magnificence with arms display'd;
His open hands discours'd his inward grace;
The poor were never at their need denied:
His careless scorn of gold his deeds bewray'd:
And this he crav'd, — no longer for to live
Than he had power and mind and will to give.

No man went empty from his frank dispose;
He was a purse-bearer unto the poor:
He well observ'd the meaning of this glose, —
" None lose reward that giveth of their store":
To all his bounty pass'd. Ay me, therefore,
That he should die! With that she sigh'd so sore,
And so she wept that she could speak no more.