by Mary Bennett.
Originally published in Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine (Punch) vol.2 #11 (Nov 1845).
"How warm the sun!" cries blind old John;
"How bright he shines!" says poor lame Will;
"How pleasant, neighbour, to have gone,
On such a day, to Greenwich Hill!
"The Easter folk are crowding there,
'Tis hard that we must prisoners be."
"Ay, true," sighs John, "I liked the fair,
When Bessy lived, and I could see.
"But she is dead, and I am blind,
And thou, old comrade, art as bad;
So we must sit, with mournful mind,
And dream the joys that once we had."
"Not so," says Will, "we two as one,
Will see the fun, and climb the hill."
"I'll be to you as feet!" cries John,
"And I to you as eyes!" cries Will.
Away they trudge—no happier pair—
The hill they reach, with friendly chat,
And while Will's eyes roam o'er the fair,
Well pleased, John hears of this and that.
On sunny bank, with daisies spread,
Now rests the lame; the blind stands by,
Strong as a tree, with high-raised head,
And eyelids twinkling merrily.
Poor souls! to see them kindly smile,
And hear them talk,—'twas worth a pound!
How meekly they their griefs beguile;
What wise conclusions they have found!
"Thus all the blind, and all the lame,
("That's all the world," suggested Will),
Should just," said John, "go do the same,
And learn of us to climb the hill."