PITY.—A FRAGMENT.

(For the Mirror.)

What is pity?

'Tis virtue's essence,—'tis benevolence

Itself;—'tis mercy, justice, charity;

It is the rarest boon that man doth give to man;

It is the first perfection of our nature;

It is the brightest attribute of heav'n:

Without it man should rank beneath the brute;

And with it—he is little lower than angel.

The generous mite of penury is pity;

Nay, ev'n a look.—

Not so the heartless pittance of the affluent,

That is hypocrisy. If you pity,

Your heart is liberal to forgive,

Your memory to forget—

Your purse is open, and your hands are free

To help the penniless.