Page:Poems Cook.djvu/37

I am the light that dimly shines
Where the friendless child of Genius pines—
Where the godlike mind is trampled down
By the callous sneer, and freezing frown.
Where Want is playing a demon part,
And sends its iron to the heart,—
Where the soul burns on in the bosom that mourns
Like the incense fire in funeral urns.

I see the hectic fingers fling
The thoughts intense, that flashingly spring;
And my flickering beam illumes the page
That may live in the fame of a future age.
I see the pale brow droop and mope,
Till the breast turns sick with blasted hope—
Till the harsh, cold world has done its worst,
And the goaded spirit has groan'd and burst.

I am the light that's doom'd to share
The meanest lot that man can bear:
I see the scanty portion spread,
Where children struggle for scraps of bread—
Where squalid forms and faces seem
Like phantoms in a hideous dream—
Where the soul may look, with startled awe,
On the work of Poverty's vulture-claw.

Many a lesson the bosom learns
Of hapless grief while the Rushlight burns;
Many a scene unfolds to me
That the heart of mercy would bleed to see.
Then scorn me not as a fameless thing,
Nor turn with contempt from the song I sing;
But smile as ye will, or scorn as ye may,
There's naught but truth to be found in my lay.

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