Volume 3 — From Chambers's Journal POOR AND RICH.

In a shattered old garret scarce roofed from the sky, Near a window that shakes as the wind hurries by, Without curtain to hinder the golden sun's shine, Which reminds me of riches that never were mine-- I recline on a chair that is broken and old. And enwrap my chilled limbs--now so aged and cold-- 'Neath a shabby old coat, with the buttons all torn. While I think of my youth that Time's footprints have worn. And remember the comrades who've one and all fled, And the dreams and the hopes that are dead with the dead. But the cracked plastered walls are emblazoned and bright With the dear blessed beams of the day's welcome light. My old coat's a king's robe, my old chair is a throne, And my thoughts are my courtiers that no king could own; For the truths that they tell, as they whisper to me, Are the echoes of pleasures that once used to be, The glad throbbings of hearts that have now ceased to feel, And the treasures of passions which Time cannot steal; So, although I know well that my life is near spent, Though I'll die without sorrow, I live with content. Though my children's soft voices no music now lend; Without wife's sweet embraces, or glance of a friend; Yet my soul sees them still, as it peoples the air With the spirits who crowd round my broken old chair. If no wealth I have hoarded to trouble mine ease, I admit that I doted on gems rich as these; And when death snatched the casket that held each fair prize, It flew to my heart where it happily lies; So, 'tis there that the utt'rings of love now are said By those dear ones, whom all but myself fancy dead. So, though fetid the air of my poor room may be. It still has all the odors of Eden for me. For my Eve wanders here, and my cherubs here sing, As though tempting my spirit like theirs to take wing. Though my pillow be hard, where so well could I rest As on that on which Amy's fair head has been pressed? So let riches and honor feed Mammon's vain heart, From my shattered old lodging I'll not wish to part; And no coat shall I need save the one I've long worn. Till the last thread be snapped, and the last rent be torn.