Society and the World

I Heard an Angel
I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing,
'Mercy, Pity, Peace
Is the world's release.'
Thus he sung all day
Over the new mown hay,
Till the sun went down
And haycocks looked brown.
I heard a Devil curse
Over the heath and the furze,
'Mercy could be no more,
If there was nobody poor,
And pity no more could be,
If all were as happy as we.'
At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.
Down pour'd the heavy rain
Over the new reap'd grain ...
And Miseries' increase
Is Mercy, Pity, Peace.

Holy Thursday
'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green:
Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:
Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor.
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

Grey Monk, The
"I die, I die!" the Mother said,
"My children die for lack of bread.
What more has the merciless Tyrant said?"
The Monk sat down on the stony bed.
The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side,
His hands and feet were wounded wide,
His body bent, his arms and knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.
His eye was dry; no tear could flow:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:
"When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The bane of all that on Earth I lov'd.
My Brother starv'd between two walls,
His Children's cry my soul appalls;
I mock'd at the rack and griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
Thy father drew his sword in the North,
With his thousands strong he marched forth;
Thy Brother has arm'd himself in steel
To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel.
But vain the Sword and vain the Bow,
They never can work War's overthrow.
The Hermit's prayer and the Widow's tear
Alone can free the World from fear.
For a Tear is an intellectual thing,
And a Sigh is the sword of an Angel King,
And the bitter groan of the Martyr's woe
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.
The hand of Vengeance found the bed
To which the Purple Tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head
And became a Tyrant in his stead."

Grey Monk, The
"I die, I die!" the Mother said,
"My children die for lack of bread.
What more has the merciless Tyrant said?"
The Monk sat down on the stony bed.
The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side,
His hands and feet were wounded wide,
His body bent, his arms and knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.
His eye was dry; no tear could flow:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:
"When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The bane of all that on Earth I lov'd.
My Brother starv'd between two walls,
His Children's cry my soul appalls;
I mock'd at the rack and griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
Thy father drew his sword in the North,
With his thousands strong he marched forth;
Thy Brother has arm'd himself in steel
To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel.
But vain the Sword and vain the Bow,
They never can work War's overthrow.
The Hermit's prayer and the Widow's tear
Alone can free the World from fear.
For a Tear is an intellectual thing,
And a Sigh is the sword of an Angel King,
And the bitter groan of the Martyr's woe
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.
The hand of Vengeance found the bed
To which the Purple Tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head
And became a Tyrant in his stead."

Grey Monk, The
"I die, I die!" the Mother said,
"My children die for lack of bread.
What more has the merciless Tyrant said?"
The Monk sat down on the stony bed.
The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side,
His hands and feet were wounded wide,
His body bent, his arms and knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.
His eye was dry; no tear could flow:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:
"When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The bane of all that on Earth I lov'd.
My Brother starv'd between two walls,
His Children's cry my soul appalls;
I mock'd at the rack and griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
Thy father drew his sword in the North,
With his thousands strong he marched forth;
Thy Brother has arm'd himself in steel
To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel.
But vain the Sword and vain the Bow,
They never can work War's overthrow.
The Hermit's prayer and the Widow's tear
Alone can free the World from fear.
For a Tear is an intellectual thing,
And a Sigh is the sword of an Angel King,
And the bitter groan of the Martyr's woe
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.
The hand of Vengeance found the bed
To which the Purple Tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head
And became a Tyrant in his stead."

From Milton: And did those feet
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear:O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green & pleasant Land.

From Milton: And did those feet
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear:O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green & pleasant Land.

From Milton: And did those feet
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear:O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green & pleasant Land.

Fair Elanor
The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower;
The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor
Walk'd by the castle gate, and lookèd in.
A hollow groan ran thro' the dreary vaults.
She shriek'd aloud, and sunk upon the steps,
On the cold stone her pale cheeks. Sickly smells
Of death issue as from a sepulchre,
And all is silent but the sighing vaults.
Chill Death withdraws his hand, and she revives;
Amaz'd, she finds herself upon her feet,
And, like a ghost, thro' narrow passages
Walking, feeling the cold walls with her hands.
Fancy returns, and now she thinks of bones
And grinning skulls, and corruptible death
Wrapp'd in his shroud; and now fancies she hears
Deep sighs, and sees pale sickly ghosts gliding.
At length, no fancy but reality
Distracts her. A rushing sound, and the feet
Of one that fled, approaches--Ellen stood
Like a dumb statue, froze to stone with fear.
The wretch approaches, crying: `The deed is done;
Take this, and send it by whom thou wilt send;
It is my life--send it to Elenor:--
He's dead, and howling after me for blood!
`Take this,' he cried; and thrust into her arms
A wet napkin, wrapp'd about; then rush'd
Past, howling: she receiv'd into her arms
Pale death, and follow'd on the wings of fear.
They pass'd swift thro' the outer gate; the wretch,
Howling, leap'd o'er the wall into the moat,
Stifling in mud. Fair Ellen pass'd the bridge,
And heard a gloomy voice cry `Is it done?'
As the deer wounded, Ellen flew over
The pathless plain; as the arrows that fly
By night, destruction flies, and strikes in darkness.
She fled from fear, till at her house arriv'd.
Her maids await her; on her bed she falls,
That bed of joy, where erst her lord hath press'd:
`Ah, woman's fear!' she cried; `ah, cursèd duke!
Ah, my dear lord! ah, wretched Elenor!
`My lord was like a flower upon the brows
Of lusty May! Ah, life as frail as flower!
O ghastly death! withdraw thy cruel hand,


Seek'st thou that flow'r to deck thy horrid temples?
`My lord was like a star in highest heav'n
Drawn down to earth by spells and wickedness;
My lord was like the opening eyes of day
When western winds creep softly o'er the flowers;
`But he is darken'd; like the summer's noon
Clouded; fall'n like the stately tree, cut down;
The breath of heaven dwelt among his leaves.
O Elenor, weak woman, fill'd with woe!'
Thus having spoke, she raisèd up her head,
And saw the bloody napkin by her side,
Which in her arms she brought; and now, tenfold
More terrifièd, saw it unfold itself.
Her eyes were fix'd; the bloody cloth unfolds,
Disclosing to her sight the murder'd head
Of her dear lord, all ghastly pale, clotted
With gory blood; it groan'd, and thus it spake:
`O Elenor, I am thy husband's head,
Who, sleeping on the stones of yonder tower,
Was 'reft of life by the accursèd duke!
A hirèd villain turn'd my sleep to death!
`O Elenor, beware the cursèd duke;
O give not him thy hand, now I am dead;
He seeks thy love; who, coward, in the night,
Hirèd a villain to bereave my life.'
She sat with dead cold limbs, stiffen'd to stone;
She took the gory head up in her arms;
She kiss'd the pale lips; she had no tears to shed;
She hugg'd it to her breast, and groan'd her last.

Four Zoas, The (excerpt)
. "What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song?
. Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
. Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
. Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy,
. And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain.
. It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
. And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn.
. It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted,
. To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer,
. To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season
. When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs.
. It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements,
. To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
. To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast;
. To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house;
. To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, and the sickness that cuts off his
children,
. While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door, and our children bring
fruits and flowers.
. Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten, and the slave grinding at the
mill,
. And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison, and the soldier in the field
. When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead.
. It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
. Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me."
. "Compel the poor to live upon a crust of bread, by soft mild arts.
. Smile when they frown, frown when they smile; and when a man looks pale
. With labour and abstinence, say he looks healthy and happy;
. And when his children sicken, let them die; there are enough
. Born, even too many, and our earth will be overrun
. Without these arts. If you would make the poor live with temper,
. With pomp give every crust of bread you give; with gracious cunning
. Magnify small gifts; reduce the man to want a gift, and then give with pomp.
. Say he smiles if you hear him sigh. If pale, say he is ruddy.
. Preach temperance: say he is overgorg'd and drowns his wit
. In strong drink, though you know that bread and water are all
. He can afford. Flatter his wife, pity his children, till we can
. Reduce all to our will, as spaniels are taught with art."
. The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning,
. And the mild moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night,
. And Man walks forth from midst of the fires: the evil is all consum'd.
. His eyes behold the Angelic spheres arising night and day;
. The stars consum'd like a lamp blown out, and in their stead, behold
. The expanding eyes of Man behold the depths of wondrous worlds!
. One Earth, one sea beneath; nor erring globes wander, but stars
. Of fire rise up nightly from the ocean; and one sun


. Each morning, like a new born man, issues with songs and joy
. Calling the Plowman to his labour and the Shepherd to his rest.
. He walks upon the Eternal Mountains, raising his heavenly voice,
. Conversing with the animal forms of wisdom night and day,
. That, risen from the sea of fire, renew'd walk o'er the Earth;
. For Tharmas brought his flocks upon the hills, and in the vales
. Around the Eternal Man's bright tent, the little children play
. Among the woolly flocks. The hammer of Urthona sounds
. In the deep caves beneath; his limbs renew'd, his Lions roar
. Around the Furnaces and in evening sport upon the plains.
. They raise their faces from the earth, conversing with the Man:
. "How is it we have walk'd through fires and yet are not consum'd?
. How is it that all things are chang'd, even as in ancient times?"

Four Zoas, The (excerpt)
. "What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song?
. Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
. Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
. Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy,
. And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain.
. It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
. And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn.
. It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted,
. To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer,
. To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season
. When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs.
. It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements,
. To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
. To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast;
. To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house;
. To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, and the sickness that cuts off his
children,
. While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door, and our children bring
fruits and flowers.
. Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten, and the slave grinding at the
mill,
. And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison, and the soldier in the field
. When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead.
. It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
. Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me."
. "Compel the poor to live upon a crust of bread, by soft mild arts.
. Smile when they frown, frown when they smile; and when a man looks pale
. With labour and abstinence, say he looks healthy and happy;
. And when his children sicken, let them die; there are enough
. Born, even too many, and our earth will be overrun
. Without these arts. If you would make the poor live with temper,
. With pomp give every crust of bread you give; with gracious cunning
. Magnify small gifts; reduce the man to want a gift, and then give with pomp.
. Say he smiles if you hear him sigh. If pale, say he is ruddy.
. Preach temperance: say he is overgorg'd and drowns his wit
. In strong drink, though you know that bread and water are all
. He can afford. Flatter his wife, pity his children, till we can
. Reduce all to our will, as spaniels are taught with art."
. The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning,
. And the mild moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night,
. And Man walks forth from midst of the fires: the evil is all consum'd.
. His eyes behold the Angelic spheres arising night and day;
. The stars consum'd like a lamp blown out, and in their stead, behold
. The expanding eyes of Man behold the depths of wondrous worlds!
. One Earth, one sea beneath; nor erring globes wander, but stars
. Of fire rise up nightly from the ocean; and one sun


. Each morning, like a new born man, issues with songs and joy
. Calling the Plowman to his labour and the Shepherd to his rest.
. He walks upon the Eternal Mountains, raising his heavenly voice,
. Conversing with the animal forms of wisdom night and day,
. That, risen from the sea of fire, renew'd walk o'er the Earth;
. For Tharmas brought his flocks upon the hills, and in the vales
. Around the Eternal Man's bright tent, the little children play
. Among the woolly flocks. The hammer of Urthona sounds
. In the deep caves beneath; his limbs renew'd, his Lions roar
. Around the Furnaces and in evening sport upon the plains.
. They raise their faces from the earth, conversing with the Man:
. "How is it we have walk'd through fires and yet are not consum'd?
. How is it that all things are chang'd, even as in ancient times?"

Four Zoas, The (excerpt)
. "What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song?
. Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
. Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
. Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy,
. And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain.
. It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
. And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn.
. It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted,
. To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer,
. To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season
. When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs.
. It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements,
. To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
. To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast;
. To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house;
. To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, and the sickness that cuts off his
children,
. While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door, and our children bring
fruits and flowers.
. Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten, and the slave grinding at the
mill,
. And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison, and the soldier in the field
. When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead.
. It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
. Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me."
. "Compel the poor to live upon a crust of bread, by soft mild arts.
. Smile when they frown, frown when they smile; and when a man looks pale
. With labour and abstinence, say he looks healthy and happy;
. And when his children sicken, let them die; there are enough
. Born, even too many, and our earth will be overrun
. Without these arts. If you would make the poor live with temper,
. With pomp give every crust of bread you give; with gracious cunning
. Magnify small gifts; reduce the man to want a gift, and then give with pomp.
. Say he smiles if you hear him sigh. If pale, say he is ruddy.
. Preach temperance: say he is overgorg'd and drowns his wit
. In strong drink, though you know that bread and water are all
. He can afford. Flatter his wife, pity his children, till we can
. Reduce all to our will, as spaniels are taught with art."
. The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning,
. And the mild moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night,
. And Man walks forth from midst of the fires: the evil is all consum'd.
. His eyes behold the Angelic spheres arising night and day;
. The stars consum'd like a lamp blown out, and in their stead, behold
. The expanding eyes of Man behold the depths of wondrous worlds!
. One Earth, one sea beneath; nor erring globes wander, but stars
. Of fire rise up nightly from the ocean; and one sun


. Each morning, like a new born man, issues with songs and joy
. Calling the Plowman to his labour and the Shepherd to his rest.
. He walks upon the Eternal Mountains, raising his heavenly voice,
. Conversing with the animal forms of wisdom night and day,
. That, risen from the sea of fire, renew'd walk o'er the Earth;
. For Tharmas brought his flocks upon the hills, and in the vales
. Around the Eternal Man's bright tent, the little children play
. Among the woolly flocks. The hammer of Urthona sounds
. In the deep caves beneath; his limbs renew'd, his Lions roar
. Around the Furnaces and in evening sport upon the plains.
. They raise their faces from the earth, conversing with the Man:
. "How is it we have walk'd through fires and yet are not consum'd?
. How is it that all things are chang'd, even as in ancient times?"

Earth's Answer
Earth raised up her head
From the darkness dread and drear,
Her light fled,
Stony, dread,
And her locks covered with grey despair.
'Prisoned on watery shore,
Starry jealousy does keep my den
Cold and hoar;
Weeping o're,
I hear the father of the ancient men.
'Selfish father of men!
Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!
Can delight,
Chained in night,
The virgins of youth and morning bear?
'Does spring hide its joy,
When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the plowman in darkness plough?
'Break this heavy chain,
That does freeze my bones around!
Selfish, vain,
Eternal bane,
That free love with bondage bound.'

Earth's Answer
Earth raised up her head
From the darkness dread and drear,
Her light fled,
Stony, dread,
And her locks covered with grey despair.
'Prisoned on watery shore,
Starry jealousy does keep my den
Cold and hoar;
Weeping o're,
I hear the father of the ancient men.
'Selfish father of men!
Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!
Can delight,
Chained in night,
The virgins of youth and morning bear?
'Does spring hide its joy,
When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the plowman in darkness plough?
'Break this heavy chain,
That does freeze my bones around!
Selfish, vain,
Eternal bane,
That free love with bondage bound.'

England! awake! awake! awake!
England! awake! awake! awake!
Jerusalem thy Sister calls!
Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death
And close her from thy ancient walls?
Thy hills and valleys felt her feet
Gently upon their bosoms move:
Thy gates beheld sweet Zion's ways:
Then was a time of joy and love.
And now the time returns again:
Our souls exult, and London's towers
Receive the Lamb of God to dwell
In England's green and pleasant bowers.

England! awake! awake! awake!
England! awake! awake! awake!
Jerusalem thy Sister calls!
Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death
And close her from thy ancient walls?
Thy hills and valleys felt her feet
Gently upon their bosoms move:
Thy gates beheld sweet Zion's ways:
Then was a time of joy and love.
And now the time returns again:
Our souls exult, and London's towers
Receive the Lamb of God to dwell
In England's green and pleasant bowers.

Devine Image
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.

Devine Image
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.

Clod and the Pebble, The
"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."
So sung a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet;
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these meters meet:
"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite."

Chimney Sweeper, The
A little black thing in 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."

Broken Love
MY Spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.
‘A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.
‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow
Wheresoever thou dost go,
Thro’ the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?
’Dost thou not in pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?
‘Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereavèd of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears,
And with cold and shuddering fears.
‘Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.
‘And seven more loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small.
‘When wilt thou return and view
My loves, and them to life renew?
When wilt thou return and live?
When wilt thou pity as I forgive?’
‘O’er my sins thou sit and moan:
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O’er my sins thou sit and weep,
And lull thy own sins fast asleep.
‘What transgressions I commit
Are for thy transgressions fit.
They thy harlots, thou their slave;
And my bed becomes their grave.
‘Never, never, I return:
Still for victory I burn.


Living, thee alone I’ll have;
And when dead I’ll be thy grave.
‘Thro’ the Heaven and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never, quell:
I will fly and thou pursue:
Night and morn the flight renew.’
‘Poor, pale, pitiable form
That I follow in a storm;
Iron tears and groans of lead
Bind around my aching head.
‘Till I turn from Female love
And root up the Infernal Grove,
I shall never worthy be
To step into Eternity.
‘And, to end thy cruel mocks,
Annihilate thee on the rocks,
And another form create
To be subservient to my fate.
‘Let us agree to give up love,
And root up the Infernal Grove;
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity.
‘And throughout all Eternity
I forgive you, you forgive me.
As our dear Redeemer said:
“This the Wine, and this the Bread.”’

Blind Man's Buff
When silver snow decks Susan's clothes,
And jewel hangs at th' shepherd's nose,
The blushing bank is all my care,
With hearth so red, and walls so fair;
`Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher,
The oaken log lay on the fire.'
The well-wash'd stools, a circling row,
With lad and lass, how fair the show!
The merry can of nut-brown ale,
The laughing jest, the love-sick tale,
Till, tir'd of chat, the game begins.
The lasses prick the lads with pins;
Roger from Dolly twitch'd the stool,
She, falling, kiss'd the ground, poor fool!
She blush'd so red, with sidelong glance
At hob-nail Dick, who griev'd the chance.
But now for Blind man's Buff they call;
Of each encumbrance clear the hall--
Jenny her silken 'kerchief folds,
And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds.
Now laughing stops, with `Silence! hush!'
And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push.
The Blind man's arms, extended wide,
Sam slips between:--`O woe betide
Thee, clumsy Will!'--but titt'ring Kate
Is penn'd up in the corner straight!
And now Will's eyes beheld the play;
He thought his face was t'other way.
`Now, Kitty, now! what chance hast thou,
Roger so near thee!--Trips, I vow!'
She catches him--then Roger ties
His own head up--but not his eyes;
For thro' the slender cloth he sees,
And runs at Sam, who slips with ease
His clumsy hold; and, dodging round,
Sukey is tumbled on the ground!--
`See what it is to play unfair!
Where cheating is, there's mischief there.'
But Roger still pursues the chase,--
`He sees! he sees!' cries, softly, Grace;
`O Roger, thou, unskill'd in art,
Must, surer bound, go thro' thy part!'
Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rimes,
And Roger turns him round three times,
Then pauses ere he starts--but Dick
Was mischief bent upon a trick;
Down on his hands and knees he lay
Directly in the Blind man's way,
Then cries out `Hem!' Hodge heard, and ran
With hood-wink'd chance--sure of his man;
But down he came. -- Alas, how frail
Our best of hopes, how soon they fail!


With crimson drops he stains the ground;
Confusion startles all around.
Poor piteous Dick supports his head,
And fain would cure the hurt he made.
But Kitty hasted with a key,
And down his back they straight convey
The cold relief; the blood is stay'd,
And Hodge again holds up his head.
Such are the fortunes of the game,
And those who play should stop the same
By wholesome laws; such as all those
Who on the blinded man impose
Stand in his stead; as, long a-gone,
When men were first a nation grown,
Lawless they liv'd, till wantonness
A nd liberty began t' increase,
And one man lay in another's way;
Then laws were made to keep fair play.

An Imitation of Spenser
Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams,
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams,
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.
For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse
And love of Folly needs none other's curse)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances terse.
And thou, Mercurius, that with wingèd brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly:
If thou arrivest at the sandy shore
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on t he dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell.
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore;
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell
O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense
That round the circle of the world would fly,
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aëry,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.
And thou, O warrior maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove,
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?


Or bear'st thy AEgis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?

An Imitation of Spenser
Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams,
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams,
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.
For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse
And love of Folly needs none other's curse)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances terse.
And thou, Mercurius, that with wingèd brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly:
If thou arrivest at the sandy shore
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on t he dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell.
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore;
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell
O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense
That round the circle of the world would fly,
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aëry,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.
And thou, O warrior maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove,
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?


Or bear'st thy AEgis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?