Classic Poem

WRITTEN AT THE BANK .

The Bank hath stopt, the guineas far are gone,
And sighing merchants round the dome are seen;
Without the cash, see thousands trudging home,
And grumbling, tears, and misery mark the scene.

Now notes can only greet the tearful eye
Of him, the sight of gold alone could cheer;
And not a passenger is passing nigh,
But holds his paper up, and drops a tear.

No guineas rattle, save in yonder chest,
Where lives the banker, or the knowing one,
Who, watchful still to soothe with gold his breast,
Gather'd some up, before it all was gone.

No more the day shall call it into sight;
No more the well-stuff'd purse make pocket big;
Banish'd, thank P ITT ! the weighty evil quite,
And hardly now is seen a guinea-pig.

Let not the poor man mock the fatal day,
Nor ridicule too much the wealthy throng;
For soon the rich, the splendid, proud, and gay,
Will to his lowly, useful clan belong.

The boast of guineas, and the blaze of wealth,
And all that e'er their arrogance bestow'd,
Shall quickly fall, or gently go by stealth,
And hoarding avarice throw down his load.

Full many a good that property had stole
From out the general lot, and nature's stock,
Shall now revert to bless the common whole,
And back return, from whence it once was got.

Nor shall distinctions, cruel, wicked, vain!
Keep man from man's acquaintance and from good;
But Truth's fair day shall now begin to reign,
And thousands happy stand were one once stood.

For oft' hath property...for oft hath gold
Debauch'd the best and sweetest gifts of heaven,
Rais'd man to misery...men hath bought and sold,
And all our worst of wretchedness hath given.

If chance, in future days, some curious wight
Should ask, how gold, how guineas flew away;
And wherefore false distinctions took their flight;
Some truth-inspir'd genius thus may say;...

" A man arose, the people call'd him P ITT ,
" Who, not intending real good to do,
" Through contradiction the right method hit,
" And call'd up wisdom, knowledge, beauty too.

" Oft' have we seen him, bless him! forward bring
" The clear, immortal writings of our P AINE ;
" And, meaning odium round his head to fling,
" Made all men read him, and secur'd his fame.

" Oft' have we heard him, with sophistic art,
" Point like a Burke , by lies, the way of truth;
" And so, by rules reverse, correct the heart,
" Instruct the old, and purify the youth.

" The sons of gold, 'twas he alone could teach,
" By fingering their God, their God of Gold;
" 'Twas he made hard oppression wisdom preach,
" And truths made clear...because he falshoods told.

" At length he fell; but not till various toil
" Produc'd a good, he never, never meant;
" 'Twas he made freedom, beauty, plenty, smile,
" And property's curst spell completely rent.

THE EPITAPH.

" Here rests his head, who banish'd gold afar.
" Who strove through life man's comforts to subdue;
" But yet he was a beacon, warning star,
" And brought about the happy, good, and true.

" No farther seek his character to know;
" A true effective democrat was he;
" And, while he aim'd the rights of man a blow,
" He call'd up truth, and made the nations free. "