ban, The mmd-forg'd manacles I hear How the Chimney-sweepers cry Every blackning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldiers sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse  , , , . , , , , ! , . , . THE HUMAN ABSTRACT Pity would be no more, 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 Gatterpiller 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 thro' Nature to find this Tree But their search was all in vain; There grows one in the Human Brain   , - , , . , - , . - - . - . ; , , . - ! - ! INFANT SORROW My inother groand! my father wept. Into the dangerous world I leapt: Helpless, naked, piping loud: Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my fathers hands: Striving against my swadling bands: Bound and weary I thought best To sulk upon my mothers breast. - - ! , , , . , , , . A POISON TREE I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine. And into my garden stole, When the night had veild the pole; In the morning glad I see, My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.   , - . - . , , , . , - , . ... - ! A LITTLE BOY LOST Nought loves another as itself Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to Thought A greater than itself to know: And Father, how can I love you, Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door, The Priest sat by and heard the child, In trembling zeal he siez'd his hair: He led him by his little coat: And all admir'd the Priestly care. And standing on the altar high, Lo what a fiend is here! said he: One who sets reason up for judge Of our most holy Mystery. The weeping child could not be heard, The weeping parents wept in vain: They strip'd him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain. And burn'd him in a holy place, Where many had been burn'd before: The weeping parents wept in vain. Are such things done on Albions shore.   " ! , . ! ? , , ". , , . : " ! !" , ! - : , . , - ... , ? A LITTLE GIRL LOST Children of the future Age, Reading this indignant page; Know that in a former time, Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime. In the Age of Gold, Free from winters cold: Youth and maiden bright, To the holy light, Naked in the sunny beams delight. Once a youthful pair Fili'd with softest care: Met in garden bright, Where the holy light, Had just removd the curtains of the night. There in rising day, On the grass they play: Parents were afar: Strangers came not near: And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Tired with kisses sweet They agree to meet, When the silent sleep Waves o'er heavens deep; And the weary tired wanderers weep. To her father white Game the maiden bright: But his loving look, Like the holy book, All her tender limbs with terror shook. Ona! pale and weak! To thy father speak: 0 the trembling fear! 0 the dismal care! That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair.   " , , , , !" - , . - - , , . - -, ! , , . - , , , ! "! ! ? ! ?! !" TO TIRZAH Whate'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 & Pride Blowd in the morn; in evening died But Mercy changd Death into Sleep; The Sexes rose to work & weep. Thou Mother of my Mortal part, With cruelty didst mould my Heart. And with false self-decieving tears, Didst bind my Nostrils Eyes & 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?   , , - ! , , - ; , . ! , , . - ! , - ! THE SCHOOL-BOY I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the sky-lark sings with me. O! what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O! it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah! then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour, Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower. Worn thro' with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. 0! father & mother, if buds are nip'd; And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are strip'd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy Or the summer fruits appear. Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy Or bless the mellowing year, When the blasts of winter appear.  - , . - , . , ! , - ! ? , ? ! , , - To ? ? THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD Youth of delight come hither, And see the opening morn, Image of truth new born. Doubt is fled & clouds of reason, Dark disputes & artful teazing. Folly is an endless maze. Tangled roots perplex her ways, How many have fallen there! 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