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wants

      Unsensualised the mind, which in the means 210

      Learnt to forget the grossness of the end,

      Best pleasured with its own activity.

      And hence Disease that withers manhood’s arm,

      The daggered Envy, spirit-quenching Want,

      Warriors, and Lords, and Priests — all the sore ills 215

      That vex and desolate our mortal life.

      Wide-wasting ills! yet each the immediate source

      Of mightier good. Their keen necessities

      To ceaseless action goading human thought

      Have made Earth’s reasoning animal her Lord; 220

      And the pale-featured Sage’s trembling hand

      Strong as an host of arméd Deities,

      Such as the blind Ionian fabled erst.

      From Avarice thus, from Luxury and War

      Sprang heavenly Science; and from Science Freedom. 225

      O’er waken’d realms Philosophers and Bards

      Spread in concentric circles: they whose souls,

      Conscious of their high dignities from God,

      Brook not Wealth’s rivalry! and they, who long

      Enamoured with the charms of order, hate 230

      The unseemly disproportion: and whoe’er

      Turn with mild sorrow from the Victor’s car

      And the low puppetry of thrones, to muse

      On that blest triumph, when the Patriot Sage

      Called the red lightnings from the o’er-rushing cloud 235

      And dashed the beauteous terrors on the earth

      Smiling majestic. Such a phalanx ne’er

      Measured firm paces to the calming sound

      Of Spartan flute! These on the fated day,

      When, stung to rage by Pity, eloquent men 240

      Have roused with pealing voice the unnumbered tribes

      That toil and groan and bleed, hungry and blind —

      These, hush’d awhile with patient eye serene,

      Shall watch the mad careering of the storm;

      Then o’er the wild and wavy chaos rush 245

      And tame the outrageous mass, with plastic might

      Moulding Confusion to such perfect forms,

      As erst were wont, — bright visions of the day! —

      To float before them, when, the summer noon,

      Beneath some arched romantic rock reclined 250

      They felt the sea-breeze lift their youthful locks;

      Or in the month of blossoms, at mild eve,

      Wandering with desultory feet inhaled

      The wafted perfumes, and the flocks and woods

      And many-tinted streams and setting sun 255

      With all his gorgeous company of clouds

      Ecstatic gazed! then homeward as they strayed

      Cast the sad eye to earth, and inly mused

      Why there was misery in a world so fair.

      Ah! far removed from all that glads the sense, 260

      From all that softens or ennobles Man,

      The wretched Many! Bent beneath their loads

      They gape at pageant Power, nor recognise

      Their cots’ transmuted plunder! From the tree

      Of Knowledge, ere the vernal sap had risen 265

      Rudely disbranchéd! Blessed Society!

      Fitliest depictured by some sun-scorched waste,

      Where oft majestic through the tainted noon

      The Simoom sails, before whose purple pomp

      Who falls not prostrate dies! And where by night, 270

      Fast by each precious fountain on green herbs

      The lion couches: or hyaena dips

      Deep in the lucid stream his bloody jaws;

      Or serpent plants his vast moon-glittering bulk,

      Caught in whose monstrous twine Behemoth yells, 275

      His bones loud-crashing!

      O ye numberless,

      Whom foul Oppression’s ruffian gluttony

      Drives from Life’s plenteous feast! O thou poor Wretch

      Who nursed in darkness and made wild by want,

      Roamest for prey, yea thy unnatural hand 280

      Dost lift to deeds of blood! O pale-eyed form,

      The victim of seduction, doomed to know

      Polluted nights and days of blasphemy;

      Who in loathed orgies with lewd wassailers

      Must gaily laugh, while thy remembered Home 285

      Gnaws like a viper at thy secret heart!

      O agéd Women! ye who weekly catch

      The morsel tossed by law-forced charity,

      And die so slowly, that none call it murder!

      O loathly suppliants! ye, that unreceived 290

      Totter heart-broken from the closing gates

      Of the full Lazar-house; or, gazing, stand,

      Sick with despair! O ye to Glory’s field

      Forced or ensnared, who, as ye gasp in death,

      Bleed with new wounds beneath the vulture’s beak! 295

      O thou poor widow, who in dreams dost view

      Thy husband’s mangled corse, and from short doze

      Start’st with a shriek; or in thy half-thatched cot

      Waked by the wintry night-storm, wet and cold

      Cow’rst o’er thy screaming baby! Rest awhile 300

      Children of Wretchedness! More groans must rise,

      More blood must stream, or ere your wrongs be full.

      Yet is the day of Retribution nigh:

      The Lamb of God hath opened the fifth seal:

      And upward rush on swiftest wing of fire 305

      The innumerable multitude of wrongs

      By man on man inflicted! Rest awhile,

      Children of Wretchedness! The hour is nigh

      And lo! the Great, the Rich, the Mighty Men,

      The Kings and the Chief Captains of the World, 310

      With all that fixed on high like stars of Heaven

      Shot baleful influence, shall be cast to earth,

      Vile and down-trodden, as the untimely fruit

      Shook from the fig-tree by a sudden storm.

      Even now the storm begins: each gentle name, 315

      Faith and meek Piety, with fearful joy

      Tremble far-off — for lo! the Giant Frenzy

      Uprooting empires with his whirlwind arm

      Mocketh high Heaven; burst hideous from the cell

      Where the old Hag, unconquerable, huge, 320

      Creation’s eyeless drudge, black Ruin, sits

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