ÀҾ˹éÒ˹ѧÊ×Í
PDF
ePub

I

LONDON.

WANDER through each charter'd street

Near where the charter'd Thames doth flow,

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,

In every voice, in every ban,

The mind-forged manacles I hear.

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals;

And the hapless soldier's sigh

Runs in blood down palace-walls.

But most through midnight streets I hear

How the youthful harlot's curse

Blasts the new-born infant's tear

And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.

K

W

TO TIRZAH.

HATE'ER is born of mortal birth

Must be consumed with the earth,

To rise from generation free:

Then what have I to do with thee?

The sexes sprung from shame and pride Blow'd in the morn; in evening died. But mercy changed death into sleep : The sexes rose to work and weep.

Thou mother of my mortal part
With cruelty didst mould my heart;
And with false, self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my nostrils, eyes and ears;

Didst close my tongue in senseless clay
And me to mortal life betray:
The death of Jesus set me free:

Then what have I to do with thee?

"IT IS RAISED A SPIRITUAL BODY."

THE HUMAN ABSTRACT.

ITY would be no more

PITY

If we did not make somebody poor;

And mercy no more could be

If all were as happy as we.

And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then cruelty knits a snare
And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of mystery over his head;

And the caterpillar and fly

Feed on the mystery.

And it bears the fruit of deceit,

Ruddy and sweet to eat;

And the Raven his nest has made

In its thickest shade.

The gods of the earth and sea

Sought through Nature to find this tree; But their search was all in vain.

There grows one in the human brain.

A

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER.

LITTLE black thing among

the snow,

Crying, " 'weep! 'weep!" in notes of woe:

Where are thy father and mother, say?

—They are both gone up to the church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath,

And smiled among the winter's snow,

They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe:

And because I am happy, and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,

And are gone to praise God and His Priest and King
Who make up a heaven of our misery.

« ¡è͹˹éÒ´Óà¹Ô¹¡ÒõèÍ
 »