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War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Never ending, still beginning,
If the world be worth thy winning,
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
The Prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Who caused his care
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,
Now strike the golden lyre again,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Has raised up his head:
And amazed, he stares around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the furies arise:
See the snakes that they rear,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghastly band,
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.
Thus long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,
Timotheus, to his breathing flute,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
The sweet enthusiast, from the sacred store,
Or both divide the crown;
CLOSE at the edge of a busy town,
A huge quadrangular mansion stands;
Behind, is a patch of earth, by thorns
Fenced in from the moor's wide marshy plains; By the side, is a gloomy lane, that steals
To a quarry now filled with years of rains : But within, within! There Poverty scowls, Nursing in wrath her brood of pains.
Enter and look! In the high-walled yards
And women are sewing, without a sound; Sewing from dawn till the dismal eve,
And not a laugh or a song goes round.
No communion-no kind thought
Nothing to come but the black despair-
Where is the bright-haired girl, that once
With her peasant sire was used to play? Where is the boy whom his mother blest,
Whose eyes were a light on her weary way? Apart--barred out (so the law ordains,)
Barred out from each other by night and day.
Letters they teach in their infant schools;
But where are the lessons of great God taught? Lessons that child to the parent bind
Habits of duty-love unbought?
Alas! small good will be learned in schools
Seventeen summers, and where the girl
Who never grew up at her father's knee? Twenty autumnal storms have nursed
The pauper's boyhood, and where is he? She earneth her bread in the midnight lanes: He tailath in obeing hy the Southern Sea.
O Power! O Prudence! Law! look down
O Wealth, come forth with an open hand!
To Love, wherever its home be found!
But I cease, for I hear, in the night to come,
EGERIA! Sweet creation of some heart