[A] Their ten more children between 1767 and 1785 were William Towers (born 1768), Charlotte Mary (born 1769), Braithwaite (born 1770), Nicholas Hankey (17711837), Charles Dyer (born 1773),[A] Anna Augusta (17741794), Lucy Eleanor (born 1776), Lionel (17781842), Harriet (born c. 1782), and George (born c. 1785). Charlotte's own first child died a day after her second child, Benjamin Berney, was born and Benjamin lived only ten years. Avvisa. Charlotte Smith struggled with poverty until her death in 1806. These trees can change over time as users edit, remove, or otherwise modify the data in their trees. She detested living in commercial Cheapside (the family later moved to Southgate and Tottenham) and argued with her in-laws, whom she saw as unrefined and uneducated. [4] Her novels contributed to the development of Gothic fiction and the novel of sensibility. - Ah! Death, Smith continues in the second stanza, provides a calm embrace, banishing all misery and suffering. FRIEND of the wretched! Smith was beginning her novelist career at a time when women's fiction was expected to focus on romance and to focus on "a chaste and flawless heroine subjected to repeated melodramatic distresses until reinstated in society by the virtuous hero". His jolly comrades now, were blades of spirit; Their nymphs possess'd most fascinating merit; Nor fail'd our hero of the rock to prove, He thought not of inviolable love To his poor spouse at home. Events There are no events at this time. This hexameter line is also known as an alexandrine. [3], At the age of six, Charlotte went to school in Chichester and took drawing lessons from the painter George Smith. So thought our stock-dove, but communication, With birds in his new friend's exalted station, Whose means of information, And knowledge of all sorts, must be so ample; Who saw great folks, and follow'd their example, Made on the dweller of the cave, impression; And soon, whatever was his best possession, His sanctuary within the rock's deep breast, His soft-eyed partner, and her nest, He thought of with indifference, then with loathing; So much insipid love was good for nothing. But sometimes tenderness return'd; his dame So long belov'd, so mild, so free from blame, How should he tell her, he had learn'd to cavil At happiness itself, and longed to travel ? It encourages our friends to abandon us out of shame, and those we love to spurn us, causing further anguish which wastes us away. Aged. - May thineBe still such bloodless laurels! canst thou forgive me? wherefore should the eye Of blank Despair, whence tears have ceased to flow, Be turn'd from thee?--Ah! the suffering world,Torn by the fearful conflict, shrinks, amaz'd,From Freedom's name, usurp'd and misapplied,And, cow'ring to the purple Tyrant's rod,Deems that the lesser ill--Deluded Men!Ere ye prophane her ever-glorious name,Or catalogue the thousands that have bledResisting her; or those, who greatly diedMartyrs to Liberty --revert awhileTo the black scroll, that tells of regal crimesCommitted to destroy her; rather countThe hecatombs of victims, who have fallenBeneath a single despot; or who gaveTheir wasted lives for some disputed claimBetween anointed robbers: 2 Monsters both! Charlotte Murray Russell THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE DOG Crime Club 1942 / 1st / DJ. Sharp goading Indigence who would not fly, "[7] As time went on, Hayley Smith withdrew support from her in 1794 and corresponded with her only infrequently. How many murmur at oblivious nightFor leaving them so soon; for bearing thusTheir fancied bliss (the only bliss they taste!) He was always on the leading edge at his tracks more seats, more pomp and ceremony, said NASCAR team owner Roger Penske. As Heaven's pure air, Fresh as it blows on this arial height, Or sound of seas upon the stony strand, Or inland, the gay harmony of birds, And winds that wander in the leafy woods; Are to the unadulterate taste more worth Than the elaborate harmony, brought out From fretted stop, or modulated airs Of vocal science.So the brightest gems, Glancing resplendent on the regal crown, Or trembling in the high born beauty's ear, Are poor and paltry, to the lovely light Of the fair star, that as the day declines, Attendant on her queen, the crescent moon, Bathes her bright tresses in the eastern wave. She was forced to withdraw her other translation, Manon Lescaut, after it was argued that the work was immoral and plagiarised. - Changing the dreamsThat sooth'd their sorrows, for calamities(And every day brings its own sad proportion) For doubts, diseases, abject dread of Death,And faithless friends, and fame and fortune lost; Fancied or real wants; and wounded pride,That views the day star, but to curse his beams.Yet He, whose Spirit into being call'dThis wond'rous World of Waters; He who bidsThe wild wind lift them till they dash the clouds,And speaks to them in thunder; or whose breath,Low murmuring, o'er the gently heaving tides,When the fair Moon, in summer night serene,Irradiates with long trembling lines of lightTheir undulating surface; that great Power,Who, governing the Planets, also knowsIf but a Sea-Mew falls, whose nest is hidIn these incumbent cliffs; He surely meansTo us, his reasoning Creatures, whom He bidsAcknowledge and revere his awful hand,Nothing but good: Yet Man, misguided Man,Mars the fair work that he was bid enjoy,And makes himself the evil he deplores.How often, when my weary soul recoilsFrom proud oppression, and from legal crimes(For such are in this Land, where the vain boastOf equal Law is mockery, while the costOf seeking for redress is sure to plungeTh' already injur'd to more certain ruinAnd the wretch starves, before his Counsel pleads) How often do I half abjure Society,And sigh for some lone Cottage, deep embower'dIn the green woods, that these steep chalky HillsGuard from the strong South West; where round their baseThe Beach wide flourishes, and the light AshWith slender leaf half hides the thymy turf! Empleos Personas Learning Descartar Descartar. She joined him there until, thanks largely to her, he was able to return to England. May well the terrors of thy triumph brave, Smiths ideas often flew in the face of NASCARs more traditional standards. The funeral service will take place at 2:00 p.m. on Tuesday, June 7, 2011 at St. Matthew's Anglican Cathedral, 403-13th Street, Brandon. But now a tiller of the soil dwells there, And of the turret's loop'd and rafter'd halls Has made an humbler homesteadWhere he sees, Instead of armed foemen, herds that graze Along his yellow meadows; or his flocks At evening from the upland driv'n to fold In such a castellated mansion once A stranger chose his home; and where hard by In rude disorder fallen, and hid with brushwood Lay fragments gray of towers and buttresses, Among the ruins, often he would muse His rustic meal soon ended, he was wont To wander forth, listening the evening sounds Of rushing milldam, or the distant team, Or night-jar, chasing fern-flies: the tir'd hind Pass'd him at nightfall, wondering he should sit On the hill top so late: they from the coast Who sought bye paths with their clandestine load, Saw with suspicious doubt, the lonely man Cross on their way: but village maidens thought His senses injur'd; and with pity say That he, poor youth ! againThe driving tempest bears the cry of Death,And, with deep sudden thunder, the dread soundOf cannon vibrates on the tremulous earth;While, bursting in the air, the murderous bombGlares o'er her mansion. 'Yes, faith, my dear; and all you say is true.' The shaggy dog following the truffle hunter, Bark'd at the loiterer; and perchance at night Belated villagers from fair or wake, While the fresh night-wind let the moonbeams in Between the swaying boughs, just saw him pass, And then in silence, gliding like a ghost He vanish'd ! Smith was also rumored to want to split off from NASCAR entirely, buying off some of the best drivers and developing his own race series at his own tracks. [3] Publishers paid less for these, however, and by 1803 Smith was poverty-stricken. Earlier this week, the broadcaster took to social media to bid farewell to one of her colleagues at the Beeb.. -- shall I still invoke,Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew,When on mine eyes the early radiance brokeWhich shew'd the beauteous rather than the true!Alas! Updates? (Osenkowski) Smith, 85, of Latrobe (Unity Twp. Her stories showed the "legal, economic, and sexual exploitation" of women by marriage and property laws. Life has become a husk, a shell. when you'd have perish'd rather 'Than this poor breast should heave a single feather 'With grief and care. The enervate sons of Italy may yield; And the Iberian, all his trophies torn And wrapp'd in Superstition's monkish weed, May shelter his abasement, and put on Degrading fetters. She eventually settled at Tilford, Surrey.[3]. She even submitted a few to the Lady's Magazine for publication, but they were not accepted. 'I only mean to make a little tour, 'Justjust to see the world around me; then 'With new delight, I shall come home again; 'Such tours are quite the rageat my return 'I shall have much to tell, and you to learn; 'Of fashionssome becoming, some grotesque 'Of change of empires, and ideas novel; 'Of buildings, Grecian, Gothic, Arabesque, 'And scenery sublime and picturesque; 'And all these things with pleasure we'll discuss' 'Ah, me ! Descartar. 'Loud and more loud, ye foaming billows, burst!Ye warring elements, more fiercely rave!Till the wide waves o'erwhelm the spot accurst'Where ruthless Avarice finds a quiet grave!' Smith became involved with English radicals while living in Brighton in 17911793. . Charlotte was married 1st to CHARLES SMITH. Yet some things soon occurr'd not quite so pleasant; He had observ'd that an unfeeling peasant, It silence mounting on a ladder high, Seiz'd certain pigeons just as they could fly, Who never figur'd more, but in a pie; That was but aukward; then, his lordship's son Heard from the groom, that 'twould be famous fun To try on others his unpractis'd gun; Their fall, the rattling shot, his nerves perplex'd; He thought perhaps it might be his turn next. Mourner- cease these wailings: cease and learn,That not the Cot sequester'd, where the briarAnd wood-bine wild, embrace the mossy thatch,(Scarce seen amid the forest gloom obscure!) Bruton Smith, legendary race promoter and founder of Charlotte Motor Speedway, has died By David Scott Updated July 30, 2022 4:14 PM NASCAR Hall of Famer Bruton Smith, left, rubs his son,. FRIEND of the wretched! The sloop, her angular canvas shifting still, Catches the light and variable airs That but a little crisp the summer sea. The importance of saying "I love you" during COVID-19, Effective ways of dealing with the grieving process, Solutions to show your sympathy safely during the Covid-19 pandemic. George Saunders and Charlotte both died in Somerset, Ohio and I put them here as. [4], Smith moved frequently due to financial concerns and declining health. Relatives of Charlotte May "lottie" Bishop Smith. In the last 20 years of her life, she lived in: Chichester, Brighton, Storrington, Bath, Exmouth, Weymouth, Oxford, London, Frant, and Elstead. Hark! Charlotte Monroe Smith from tree Don Ullery Family Tree. Waning interest left her destitute by 1803. Please give if you can. Fear, frantic Fear,Wing'd her weak feet: yet, half repentant nowHer headlong haste, she wishes she had staidTo die with those affrighted Fancy paintsThe lawless soldier's victims--Hark! Her first husband's family name was Berney, her second's Dyer. [2] 'twill not be:---- So many years have pass'd,Since, on my native hills, I learn'd to gazeOn these delightful landscapes; and those years Have taught me so much sorrow, that my soulFeels not the joy reviving Nature brings;But, in dark retrospect, dejected dwellsOn human follies, and on human woes.----What is the promise of the infant year,The lively verdure, or the bursting blooms,To those, who shrink from horrors such as WarSpreads o'er the affrighted world? must have been cross'd in love For often, stretch'd upon the mountain turf With folded arms, and eyes intently fix'd Where ancient elms and firs obscured a grange, Some little space within the vale below, They heard him, as complaining of his fate, And to the murmuring wind, of cold neglect And baffled hope he told.The peasant girls These plaintive sounds remember, and even now Among them may be heard the stranger's songs. Sargeant 1st American on F1 grid since 2015, Deputy rapes woman at traffic stop and tells her she wont be charged, Tennessee cops say, Charlotte woman was locked in room for 5 days before police shooting, report shows. She also wrote two volumes of a history of England (1806) and A Natural History of Birds (1807, posthumous). '- If even here,If in this land of highly vaunted Freedom,Even Britons controvert the unwelcome truth,Can it be relish'd by the sons of France? a word That like false fire, from marsh effluvia born, Misleads the wanderer, destin'd to contend In the world's wilderness, with want or woe Yet they are happy, who have never ask'd What good or evil means. Thither aspiring Fancy fondly soars, Wandering sublime thro' visionary vales, Where bright pavilions rise, and trophies, fann'd By airs celestial; and adorn'd with wreaths Of flowers that bloom amid elysian bowers. Thus may'st thou, Britain, triumph! Im a frustrated builder who had a knack for promoting races, and its been fun to always try and push the sport to greater heights for the fans, Smith told the Associated Press in 2015. She received her bachelor's degree from Indiana University of Pennsylvania. By the end of her life, it had almost paralysed her. parents. Smith's husband fled to France to escape his creditors. Who Where Receive obituaries James Jay Tapkas This story was originally published June 22, 2022, 4:25 PM. Take the second line of the first stanza (well return to the first line in a moment): Of blank Despair, whence tears have ceased to flow. "Smith deserves to be read not simply as a writer whose work demonstrates changes in taste, but as one of the primary voices of her time and a worthy contemporary of the male romantic poets. Their children also were friends, Hendrick told The Charlotte Observer Wednesday. Oh ! Speedway Motorsports, Inc. announced Smith's death, saying it occurred due to natural causes. And that the peasant who, 'amid 5 the sons'Of Reason, Valour, Liberty, and Virtue,'Displays distinguish'd merit, is a Noble'Of Nature's own creation! Avvisa. On Wednesday, Smith died at the age of 95, marking the end of a NASCAR Hall of Fame career during which he became one of motorsports ' most successful and influential race promoters and track owners. But let not modern Gallia form from hence Presumptuous hopes, that ever thou again, Queen of the isles ! I think NASCAR owes him a lot, Hendrick said. Charlotte M. Smith, age 62, of Russellville, passed away on Tuesday, September 07, 2021 at Helen Keller Hospital with her family at her side. I'm pretty sure if you said to Helen, "We have to go to Mars," she would find a . One of the things we pushed real hard for was finishing races under green (flag), Wheeler said. He was born to the late Vincent J. Cardinal and. wherefore should the eye, https://www.poetry.com/poem/5577/ode-to-death, Enter our monthly contest for the chance to. Unmindful of the miseries of Man! She loved to read and wrote poems, which her father encouraged. Search Charlotte obituaries and condolences, hosted by Echovita.com. Where the splinters fall,Like scatter'd comets, its destructive pathIs mark'd by wreaths of flame!--Then, overwhelm'dBeneath accumulated horror, sinksThe desolate mourner; yet, in Death itself,True to maternal tenderness, she triesTo save the unconscious infant from the stormIn which she perishes; and to protectThis last dear object of her ruin'd hopesFrom prowling monsters, that from other hills,More inaccessible, and wilder wastes,Lur'd by the scent of slaughter, follow fierceContending hosts, and to polluted fieldsAdd dire increase of horrors--But alas!The Mother and the Infant perish both!--The feudal Chief, whose Gothic battlementsFrown on the plain beneath, returning homeFrom distant lands, alone and in disguise,Gains at the fall of night his Castle walls,But, at the vacant gate, no Porter sitsTo wait his Lord's admittance!--In the courtsAll is drear silence!--Guessing but too wellThe fatal truth, he shudders as he goesThro' the mute hall; where, by the blunted lightThat the dim moon thro' painted casements lends,He sees that devastation has been there:Then, while each hideous image to his mindRises terrific, o'er a bleeding corseStumbling he falls; another interruptsHis staggering feet--all, all who us'd to rushWith joy to meet him--all his familyLie murder'd in his way!--And the day dawnsOn a wild raving Maniac, whom a fateSo sudden and calamitous has robb'dOf reason; and who round his vacant wallsScreams unregarded, and reproaches Heaven!--Such are thy dreadful trophies, savage War!And evils such as these, or yet more dire,Which the pain'd mind recoils from, all are thine--The purple Pestilence, that to the graveSends whom the sword has spar'd, is thine; and thineThe Widow's anguish and the Orphan's tears!--Woes such as these does Man inflict on Man;And by the closet murderers, whom we styleWise Politicians; are the schemes prepar'd,Which, to keep Europe's wavering balance even,Depopulate her kingdoms, and consignTo tears and anguish half a bleeding world!--Oh! The novel was published in June 1792, a year before France and Britain went to war and before the Reign of Terror began, which shocked the public, turning them against the revolutionaries. There (where, from hollows fring'd with yellow broom,The birch with silver rind, and fairy leaf,Aslant the low stream trembles) I have stood,And meditated how to venture bestInto the shallow current, to procureThe willow herb of glowing purple spikes,Or flags, whose sword-like leaves conceal'd the tide,Startling the timid reed-bird from her nest,As with aquatic flowers I wove the wreath,Such as, collected by the shepherd girls,Deck in the villages the turfy shrine,And mark the arrival of propitious May.--How little dream'd I then the time would come,When the bright Sun of that delicious monthShould, from disturb'd and artificial sleep,Awaken me to never-ending toil,To terror and to tears!--Attempting still,With feeble hands and cold desponding heart,To save my children from the o'erwhelming wrongs,That have for ten long years been heap'd on me!--The fearful spectres of chicane and fraudHave, Proteus like, still chang'd their hideous forms(As the Law lent its plausible disguise),Pursuing my faint steps; and I have seenFriendship's sweet bonds (which were so early form'd,)And once I fondly thought of amaranthInwove with silver seven times tried) give way,And fail; as these green fan-like leaves of fernWill wither at the touch of Autumn's frost.Yet there are those , whose patient pity stillHears my long murmurs; who, unwearied, tryWith lenient hands to bind up every woundMy wearied spirit feels, and bid me go"Right onward 7 "--a calm votary of the Nymph,Who, from her adamantine rock, points outTo conscious rectitude the rugged path,That leads at length to Peace!--Ah! Charlotte A. Smith (nee King) on May 24, 2021 of Washington Twp. Charlotte J. Smith Carthage, MS Charlotte J. Smith, 86, a homemaker, died Sunday, January 22, 2023 at Beehive Personal Care. Oh, wed argue about things, Wheeler said. - Actions such as these,Like incense rising to the Throne of Heaven,Far better justify the pride, that swellsIn British bosoms, than the deafening roarOf Victory from a thousand brazen throats,That tell with what success wide-wasting WarHas by our brave Compatriots thinned the world. Fear thee, O Death! -- shall I still invoke, Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew, When on mine eyes the early radiance broke Oh ! This reinforces the idea of being released from those mind-forged chains that bind one to a life of misery, as does the triple-rhyming of save and brave both verbs with positive connotations pertaining to salvation and courage with grave, reinforcing the notion that embracing the grave as a release from suffering is a courageous act. - Alas! "[10], Robert Southey, a poet and contributor to the early Romanticist movement, also sympathised with Smith's hardships. The presenter, 58, said The sun: "There's nothing Helen can't do. . Countryfile's Charlotte Smith has claimed that there's "nothing" her co-star Helen Skelton can't do and that she's "really proud" of her efforts on Strictly Come Dancing. let him cherish his ideal bliss For what is life, when Hope has ceas'd to strew Her fragile flowers along its thorny way ? Receive obituaries from the city or cities of your choice. The marriage proposal was accepted for her by her father. 'Who now, my poor mother, thy life shall sustain,Since thy son has thus left thee forlorn?Ah! But it's not just Charlotte's reports on the environment that have made headlines. That urges toil the exhausted strength above? Ode to Death is written predominantly in iambic pentameter, whose similarities with the rhythms of everyday English speech make it ideal for a meditative poem which reveals the thoughts and feelings of the poet. Smith also pushed for changes in the competition side of NASCAR. Echovita offers a solidarity program that gives back the funds generated to families. Our editors will review what youve submitted and determine whether to revise the article. Indigence again, an abstract quality personified with a capital letter means neediness or poverty. An elm, uprooted by the storm, The trunk with mosses gray and green, Shall make for us a rustic form, Where lighter grows the forest scene; And far among the bowery shades, Are ferny lawns and grassy glades. for ever adieu! "[3], After leaving her husband, Smith moved to a town near Chichester and decided to write novels, as they would make more money than poetry. Smith also founded Speedway Childrens Charities in 1982 in memory of his late son Bruton Cameron Smith. And all this cant of fashion 'Would but have rais'd your anger, or compassion, 'O my dear love ! Smith began his career in motorsports as a short-track race promoter in Cabarrus County. He bow'd and sigh'd, Now to a fantail's, now a cropper's bride; Then cow'ring low to a majestic powter, Declared he should not suffer life without her; And then with upturn'd eyes, in phrase still humbler, Implor'd the pity of an almond tumbler; Next, to a beauteous carrier's feet he'd run, And lived a week, the captive of a nun: Thus far in measureless content he revels, And blest the hour when he began his travels. She could barely afford food or coal. Obituaries; Flowers & Gifts; . But if his generous cares were all in vain, And with slow swell the tide of morning bore Some blue swol'n cor'se to land; the pale recluse Dug in the chalk a sepulchreabove Where the dank sea-wrack mark'd the utmost tide, And with his prayers perform'd the obsequies For the poor helpless stranger. [3] All her works were published under her own name, "a daring decision" for a woman at the time. 'Twas morn; and the wind with a hoarse sullen moanNow seem'd dying away in the wood,When the poor wretched mother still drooping, alone,Beheld on the threshold a figure unknown,In gorgeous apparel who stood. Smith was the billionaire founder and CEO of Speedway Motorsports, Inc., a group of race tracks that includes Charlotte Motor Speedway. Happiness ! Dismiss. England ! But love, tho' blind himself, makes some discerning; His frequent absence, and his late returning, With ruffled plumage, and with alter'd eyes, His careless short replies, And to their couplets, coldness or neglect Had made his gentle wife suspect, All was not right; but she forbore to teaze him, Which would but give him an excuse to rove: She therefore tried by every art to please him, Endur'd his peevish starts with patient love, And when (like other husbands from a tavern) Of his new notions full, he sought his cavern She with dissembled cheerfulness, 'beguiled 'The thing she was,' and gaily coo-ed and smiled. She also helped to set conventions for Gothic fiction and wrote political novels of sensibility. 'Part, raging waters! Her two siblings, Nicholas and Catherine Ann, were born over the next five years. 'But dead, disfigured, while between the roarOf the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear,And seem to say--Ah, wretch! Norma J. Smith August 15, 2019 Norma Jean Smith passed away peacefully on August 15, 2019 after a brief illness. Charlotte Turner Smith was an English Romantic poet and novelist. Along with former SMI president H.A. Although she published far more prose than poetry and her novels brought her more money and fame, she believed poetry would bring her respectability. Smith would submit final drafts in exchange for "food, lodging, and expenses for her children". "[B] In addition to Jane Austen, Henrietta O'Neill, Reverend Joseph Cooper Walker, and Sarah Rose were people Smith saw as trusted friends. Address. Funeral arrangement under the care ofFuller Metz Cremation & Funeral Services. "[4] For example, Mr and Mrs Stafford in Emmeline are portraits of Charlotte and Benjamin. ah! For even those orchards round the Norman farms, Which, as their owners mark the promis'd fruit, Console them for the vineyards of the south, Surpass not these. 'Toujours perdrix ne valent rien.' The track opened in June 1960 with a 600-mile race, the longest ever in NASCARs history. But that first foot is reversed: rather than being iambic (e.g. She was born on September 8, 1956 in Fort Polk, Louisiana to George and Ila Hutson. When the national spotlight shines bright enough, it can illuminate the ills in our local communities, giving us all the opportunity to again decide where we Emanuel Nmn Smith, age 60s, lives in Charlotte, NC. Where the brook is traced By crouding osiers, and the black coot hides Among the plashy reeds, her diving brood, The matron wades; gathering the long green rush That well prepar'd hereafter lends its light To her poor cottage, dark and cheerless else Thro' the drear hours of Winter. that sweet form of thine!While each sad month, as slow it pass'd,Brought some new sorrow to deplore;Some grief more poignant than the last,But thou canst calm those griefs no more.No more thy friendship soothes to restThis wearied spirit tempest-toss'd;The cares that weigh upon my breastAre doubly felt since thou art lost.Bright visions of ideal graceThat the young poet's dreams inflame,Were not more lovely than thy face;Were not more perfect than thy frame.Wit, that no sufferings could impair,Was thine, and thine those mental powersOf force to chase the fiends that tearFrom Fancy's hands her budding flowers.O'er what, my angel friend, thou wert,Dejected Memory loves to mourn;Regretting still that tender heart,Now withering in a distant urn.But ere that wood of shadowy pineTwelve times shall yon full orb behold,This sickening heart, that bleeds for thine,My Harriet!may like thine be cold! [3] An array of periodicals reviewed her works, including the Anti-Jacobin Review, the Analytical Review, the British Critic, The Critical Review, the European Magazine, the Gentleman's Magazine, the Monthly Magazine, and the Universal Magazine. Avvisa. The fishermen, who at set seasons pass Many a league off at sea their toiling night, Now hail their comrades, from their daily task Returning; and make ready for their own, With the night tide commencing:The night tide Bears a dark vessel on, whose hull and sails Mark her a coaster from the north. Despite ten novels, four children's books and other works, she saw herself mainly as a . SWELLS then thy feeling heart, and streams thine eyeO'er the deserted being, poor and old,Whom cold, reluctant, parish charityConsigns to mingle with his kindred mould?Mourn'st thou, that here the time-worn sufferer endsThose evil days still threatening woes to come;Here, where the friendless feel no want of friends,Where even the houseless wanderer finds a home!What though no kindred crowd in sable forth,And sigh, or seem to sigh, around his bier;Though o'er his coffin with the humid earthNo children drop the unavailing tear?Rather rejoice that here his sorrows cease,Whom sickness, age, and poverty oppress'd;Where death, the leveller, restores to peaceThe wretch who living knew not where to rest.Rejoice, that though an outcast spurn'd by fate,Through penury's rugged path his race he ran;In earth's cold bosom, equall'd with the great,Death vindicates the insulted rights of man.Rejoice, that though severe his earthly doom,And rude, and sown with thorns the way he trod,Now, (where unfeeling fortune cannot come)He rests upon the mercies of his God. 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