The Hall and the Cottage

A man there sate, not old, but weak and worn
Worse than age wears and weakens, near a wall
Where dogs inside were playing round the court,
While, conscious of his station in the house,
Deep-sided, ebon-footed, and ring-tail'd,
Stalkt the gray cat, and all about gave way.
Yet, fearless of her talon, pigeons dropt,
First one, and then another, from the roof,
To pick up crumbs, shaken from snow-white cloth.
Winter had now set in, and genial fires
Drew families around them; near the grate
The small round table left the large behind;
And filberts bristled up, and medlars oped
Their uncouth lids, and chesnuts were reveal'd
Beneath the folded napkin, moist and hot.
Scant had the bounty been if all this store,
Supervacaneous, had gone forth bestow'd
On the poor wretch outside: he never rais'd
His hopes, he never rais'd his thoughts, so high.
Dinner was over in that pleasant home,
And worthy were its inmates to enjoy
In peace its plenteous yet uncostly fare.
Little they thought that while the dogs within
The court were playing, some of them erect
Against their adversary, couchant some
And panting to spring forward, while the doves
Cooed hoarse with crop replenisht, and walkt round
Each his own mate, trailing along the tiles
His wing, his bosom purpling with content;
Little thought they how near them loiter'd one
Who might have envied the least happy cur
Or cat or pigeon. To his cottage bent
His fancy, from his own sad cares repel'd.
Fancies are fond of lying upon down,
Tho' they are often bred and born elsewhere;
His was a strange one. But men's minds are warpt
By fortune or misfortune, weal or woe,
By heat and cold alike. The hungry man
Thought of his children's hunger; the sharp blast
Blew from them only. When he rais'd his eyes
And saw the smoke ascending o'er the hall,
He said . . his words are written . . God knows where . .
" O! could I only catch that smoke which wreathes
And riots round the rich man's chimney- vane,
And bring it down among my ice-cold brats,
They would not look and turn away from me,
And rather press the damp brick floor again
With their blue faces, than see him they call'd
Father! dear father! when they woke ere dawn."