Classic Poem

I HEAR the voice of Merriment resound
In yon proud hall: there Joy and Plenty dwell;
There not in vain the suppliant wretch may tell
His piteous story. Oh, if bliss be found
Within these haunts, where glitt'ring stores abound,
And heav'nly strains of soothing Music swell,
Pity the wretch, whom not a straw-rooft cell
Protects from cold; but on the freezing ground
Rest his old limbs, and of the wintry blast
These silver hairs the cruel rigour bear:
Alas, they hear not; for their dogs they feel,
To them with lavish care are dainties cast;
But for their fellows, whom to sad Despair
Their riot dooms, they all have hearts of steel.