ode, sacred to the memory of mrs. oswald of aucruive
dweller in yon dungeon dark,
hangman of creation! mark,
who in eeds appears,
den with unhonour'd years,
noosing with care a bursting purse,
baited with many a deadly curse?
strophe
view the wither'd beldam's face;
thy keen iion trace
aught of humanity's sweet, melting grace?
hat 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:
keeper of mammon's iro,
lo, there she goes, unpitied and u,
she goes, but not to realms of eversti!
antistrophe
plunderer of armies! lift thine eyes,
(a while forbear, ye t fiends;)
seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends?
no fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies;
'tis thy trusty quondam mate,
doom'd to share thy fiery fate;
she, tardy, hell-lies.
epode
and are they of no more avail,
ten thousand glittering pounds a-year?
in other worlds 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 sce clear,
expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heaven.