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;