The Old Soldier.

A poor old Man, foot-founder'd and alone,

Thus urgent spoke, in Trouble's genuine tone:

‘ My pretty Maid, if happiness you seek,

May disappointment never fade your cheek!—

Your's be the joy;— yet, feel another's woe;

O leave some little, gift before you go.’

His words struck home; and back she turn'd again,

( The ready friend of indigence and pain,)

To banish hunger from his shatter'd frame;

And close behind her, lo, the Miller, came,

With Jug in hand, and cried,‘ GEORGE, why such haste?

Here, take a draught; and let that Soldier taste.’

‘ Thanks for your bounty, Sir,’ the Veteran said;

Threw down his Wallet, and made bare his head;

And straight began, though mix'd with doubts and fears,

Th’ unprefac'd History of his latter years,

‘ I cross'd th’ Atlantic with our Regiment, brave,

Where Sickness sweeps whole Regiments to the grave;