Brought death into the world and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, heavenly muse that on the secret top
Of Oreb or of Sinai didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of chaos.—Milton.
No more I weep, they do not sleep,
On yonder cliffs a grisly band;
I gee them sit, they linger yet,—
Avengers of their native land:
With me in dreadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
—Gray.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams;
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.—Shelley.
Aristocracy has divorced those whom God has united—Father Labour and Mother Earth, those parents of our prosperity and wealth; it has made a very nation of paupers, and sent them to you, shop-keepers and artizans, to be maintained; its history is written in the tears of human kind; its gules are torn from the blooming cheeks of labour, leaving them blank and withered parchments for the seal of death.—Ernest Jones.
It was a cove of huge recess,
That keeps till June December's snow;
