With Christmas approaching I present you with this January Poem.
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2202164
The Sydney Gazette and… Saturday 9 January 1836,
ORIGINAL POETRY
THE DRUNKARD
”WHY Edward dids’t thou last night so late stay
While cold and comfortlesss time pass’d away
With me,poor me ! deserted and forgot ;
Cast like a noxious weed upon the spot
Where it had grown, to perish and to rot.
Tell me ! for of late, that ruddiness of health
is gone-that kindness too! which power or wealth
Of worlds could never purchase to my love-
Nor more than these I sought not, but above.
Why that dejected air, where all was gay ;
Why those dull eyes, that once with ray
Ethereal warm’d my young and happy heart,
With all that love and kindness could impart.”
Thus Mary spoke, and down her blanched cheek,
‘A tear-a trembling tear with tenderness replete,
Did slowly roll, then fell and kissed her foot.
The Drunkard spoke not ; conscious that his wife,
Thro’ him had thus dragged on a loathsome life ;
Her once gay heart, by rugged misery torn,
Bar’d by distress-and comfortless and lorn :
Her beauty stunted by the pinching hand
Of griping poverty-and the wretched band.
Oí ceaseless evils, which for o’er attend
Upon the wretch who wants in vain a friend ;
There Edward sat, haggard and worn his look.
And his whole frame in wild convulsions shook ;
A hectic blush spread redness in his cheek,
.And then anon a dreary white would creep ;
And he looked ghastlier than the dead, or they
Who spectral glide in midnight’s gloomy way. _ |
The damning draught of false and dear bought joy,
The opiates that but for awhile alloy,
Sorrows begotten o’er the cursed bowl,
That bring despair and darkness to the soul,
Lie on the table – she the wretched wife
Gently reproves him for his vicious life
He hears her not, but with unsteady hand
He grasps the bottle-she with voice so bland
Chides, but to him how useless,-now a sip,
Another, and,another, till the cup
Is empty ; again he fills-again he drinks it up, !
So on till maddened with infernal fire-
Fierce frenzy in his soul and wild desire-
He raves-he swears-he knows not of his doom,
Before his eyes the things within the room
Seem whizzing round and round his burning brain ;
He shouts-he shrieks, his madness all in vain,
His reason comes not, nor shall come again.
With him ’tis night, a long eternal night,
Where sun, nor moon, nor star, shall give their light ;
His soul is flying to the world unknown,
‘The grave is his, and scarce one dying groan!
Proclaim’d that Death had got him for his own.
W.T.
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2202164
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