« PreviousContinue »
Perchance, O kinder thought and better hope,
Of glimmering faith, that soul will never die.
as thou, dry root,
So full of living promise?—yes, I see
Nature's resurgam" sculptured there in words
Must slumber on, but shall awake at last;
A little longer, yet a little longer,
And at the trumpet's voice, shall this dry shape
Start up, instinct with life, the same though changed,
Perchance for second death, perchance to shine,
Brighter than seraphs, and beyond the sun.
WILL none befriend that poor dumb brute,
Will no man rescue him?
With weaker effort, gasping, mute,
He strains in every limb;
Spare him, O spare:- he feels,
Another crushing blow! - he reels,
Faint, hunger-sick, old, blind, and ill,
The poor, or man or beast, Can battle on with life uphill, And bear its griefs at least;
Truly, their cup of gall o'erflows!
Who, who can drink it then?
Heard ye that shriek?-O wretch, forbear,
Fling down thy bloody knife:
In fear, if not in pity, spare
A woman, and a wife!
For thee she toils, unchiding, mild,
And for thy children wan,
Beaten, and starv'd, with famine wild,
Husband and father, drunkard, fiend'
Has won for innocence a friend,
Their lives thou madest sad; but worse
Heap on, heap on, fresh torments add, New schemes of torture plan ·
NO MERCY: Mercy's self is glad
To damn the cruel man.
God! God! thy whole creation groans,
The hollow eye of famine pleads,
Oppression's victim, weak and mild,
cruel world! O sickening fear Of goad, or knife, or thong; O load of evils ill to bear!
- How long, good God, how long?
HARMLESS, happy little treasures,
How I love you, pretty creatures,
On these laughing rosy faces
But yours is the sunny dimple
Yours the natural curling tresses,
Pure with health, and warm with joy.
The dull slaves of gain, or passion,
Cannot love you as they should; The poor worldly fools of fashion Would not love you if they could.
Write them childless, those cold-hearted, Who can scorn Thy generous boon, And whose souls with fear have smarted, Lest-Thy blessings come too soon.
While he hath a child to love him,
But for thee, whose heart is lonely,
All unkiss'd by innocent beauty,