An Old Offender.

A culprit, from the stony prison brought,1
                        
                        Stands at the solemn stern judicial bar ;2
                        
                        A thief of many seasons ;  traced and caught,3
                        
                        The plunder in his gripe. With mouth ajar,4
                        
                        He strives to look untouched by evil thought,5
                        
                        But his eye steals around for friends afar.6
                        “ Who owns the boy ?”  No answer.  “ Eight years  
old ?”7
                        
                        old ?”7
“ His tenth offence, sir.”  “ Well, what has he  
done?”8
                        
                        done?”8
“ Cut off this watch, these seals.”  “ He’s very bold :9
                        
                        Where is his daily living earned, or won ?  ”10
                        
                        “ In the streets, both night and day, sir, hot or cold.”11
                        
                        “ Where are the poor child’s parents ?”   “ He has  
none.”12
                        none.”12
None—none !  No parent !  Like the cuckoo’s young,13
                        
                        Cast on the lap of chance, for life, for bread ;14
                        
                        Amongst the starved and sinful roughly flung ;15
                        
                        By felons taught ;  by nightly plunder fed !16
                        
                        Help, angels !  who his birth-day carol sung,17
                        
                        Teach him, or take him quickly to the dead.18
                        “ Help !”  through the regions of the echoing sky,19
                        
                        Through earth, and all its zones and circles, rings.20
                        
                        Ah, learn !  When tears are forced from Pity’s eye,21
                        
                        To every gentle orb a moisture clings :22
                        
                        When Worth for human misery breathes a sigh,23
                        
                        In answering music, know, an angel sings.24