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thou more bright than all that Angel Blaze,

      Despiséd GALILAEAN! Man of Woes!

      For chiefly in the oppressed Good Man’s face

      The Great Invisible (by symbols seen)

      Shines with peculiar and concentred light, 20

      When all of Self regardless the scourg’d Saint

      Mourns for th’ oppressor. O thou meekest Man! 25

      Meek Man and lowliest of the Sons of Men!

      Who thee beheld thy imag’d Father saw.

      His Power and Wisdom from thy awful eye

      Blended their beams, and loftier Love sat there

      Musing on human weal, and that dread hour 30

      1796.

      What mists dim-floating of Idolatry

      Split and mishap’d the Omnipresent Sire:

      And first by Terror, Mercy’s startling prelude,

      Uncharm’d the Spirit spell-bound with earthy lusts.

      1796.

      They cannot dread created might, who love

      God the Creator! fair and lofty thought!

      It lifts and swells my heart! and as I muse,

      Behold a VISION gathers in my soul,

      Voices and shadowy shapes! In human guise

      I seem to see the phantom, FEAR, pass by,

      Hotly-pursued, and pale! From rock to rock

      He bounds with bleeding feet, and thro’ the swamp,

      The quicksand and the groaning wilderness,

      Struggles with feebler and yet feebler flight.

      But lo! an altar in the wilderness,

      And eagerly yet feebly lo! he grasps

      The altar of the living God! and there

      With wan reverted face the trembling wretch

      All wildly list’ning to his Hunter-fiends

      Stands, till the last faint echo of their yell

      Dies in the distance.

      1803.

      Swims in his eyes: his swimming eyes uprais’d:

      And Faith’s whole armour girds his limbs! And thus

      Transfigur’d, with a meek and dreadless awe,

      A solemn hush of spirit he beholds

      1803.

      Yea, and there,

      Unshudder’d unaghasted, he shall view

      E’en the SEVEN SPIRITS, who in the latter day

      Will shower hot pestilence on the sons of men,

      For he shall know, his heart shall understand,

      That kindling with intenser Deity

      They from the MERCY-SEAT like rosy flames,

      From God’s celestial MERCY-SEAT will flash,

      And at the wells of renovating LOVE

      Fill their Seven Vials with salutary wrath.

      1796.

      For even these on wings of healing come,

      Yea, kindling with intenser Deity

      From the Celestial MERCY SEAT they speed,

      And at the renovating &c.

      1803.

      Darkling with earnest eyes he traces out

      Th’ immediate road, all else of fairest kind

      1803.

      O Fiends of SUPERSTITION! not that oft

      Your pitiless rites have floated with man’s blood

      The skull-pil’d Temple, not for this shall wrath

      Thunder against you from the Holy One!

      But (whether ye th’ unclimbing Bigot mock

      With secondary Gods, or if more pleas’d

      Ye petrify th’ imbrothell’d Atheist’s heart,

      The Atheist your worst slave) I o’er some plain

      Peopled with Death, and to the silent Sun

      Steaming with tyrant-murder’d multitudes;

      Or where mid groans and shrieks loud-laughing TRADE

      More hideous packs his bales of living anguish

      1796.

      The wafted perfumes, gazing on the woods

      The many tinted streams

      1803.

      1828, 1829.

      Ye whom Oppression’s ruffian gluttony

      Drives from the feast of life

      1803.

      Dost roam for prey — yea thy unnatural hand

      Liftest to deeds of blood

      1796.

      Nights of pollution, days of blasphemy,

      Who in thy orgies with loath’d wassailers

      1803.

      supplicants! that oft Watchman.

      Rack’d with disease, from the unopen’d gate

      Of the full Lazar-house, heart-broken crawl!

      1796, Watchman.

      O ye to scepter’d Glory’s gore-drench’d field

      Forc’d or ensnar’d, who swept by Slaughter’s scythe

      Stern nurse of Vultures! steam in putrid heaps

      1796.

      O ye that steaming to the silent Noon,

      People with Death red-eyed Ambition’s plains!

      O Wretched Widow

      When on some solemn Jubilee of Saints

      The sapphire-blazing gates of Paradise

      Are thrown wide open, and thence voyage forth

      Detachments wild of seraph-warbled airs

      1796, Watchman.

      The SAVIOUR comes! While as to solemn strains,

      The THOUSAND YEARS lead up their mystic dance

      Old OCEAN claps his hands! the DESERT shouts!

      And soft gales wafted from the haunts of spring

      Melt the primaeval North!

      The Mighty Dead 1796.

      Down the fine fibres from the sentient brain

      Roll subtly-surging. Pressing on his steps

      Lo! PRIESTLEY there, Patriot, and Saint, and Sage,

      Whom that my fleshly eye hath never seen

      A childish pang of impotent regret

      Hath thrill’d my heart. Him from his native land

      1796.

      Up the fine fibres thro’ the sentient brain

      Pass in fine surges. Pressing on his steps

      Lo! Priestley there

      1803.

      Sweeping before the rapt prophetic Gaze

      Bright as what glories of the jasper throne

      Stream from the gorgeous and

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