Classic Poem

Pale Roamer through the Night! thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed possess,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness
Betrayed, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn!
The world is pityless: the Chaste one's pride
Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress:
Thy Loves and they, that envied thee, deride:
And Vice alone will shelter Wretchedness!
O! I am sad to think, that there should be
Cold-bosom'd Lewd ones, who endure to place
Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery,
And force from Famine the caress of Love!
May He shed healing on thy sore disgrace,
He, the great Comforter that rules above!