 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Blind Hazard is abroad: Fates, wavering-winged,
Flit to and fro, in wide empoisoned Element:
(New Hell-crime, on a godless Enemys part!)
Flit to and fro, in wide empoisoned Element:
(New Hell-crime, on a godless Enemys part!)
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Drives, thick as locusts' swarm, a flying sleet
Of leaden shot. Each, charged with sudden death:
May untimely pierce a valorous soldier's breast:
And snatch, (that human birthright,) his one life.
Of leaden shot. Each, charged with sudden death:
May untimely pierce a valorous soldier's breast:
And snatch, (that human birthright,) his one life.
Ere this Hell-engined daily dance-of-Death,
Shall áll be done; must lie ten-thousand-thousand,
In hásty gráve-pits, war-slain carcasses:
To moulder, or in théir own, or stranger soil;
Last Womb, of all Mankinds One-Mother-Earth.
Mansoul.
Shall áll be done; must lie ten-thousand-thousand,
In hásty gráve-pits, war-slain carcasses:
To moulder, or in théir own, or stranger soil;
Last Womb, of all Mankinds One-Mother-Earth.
Ah, ah! Worlds Light! for which we longed so sore,
In Earth beneath: where sleep just souls, and spirits
Departed, rest. Must we then, which dwell yet,
In Únderworld, this dark Voyage done, return
To a waste World! Desire dies in our hearts,
To see again Thy Glory, O Sun in Heaven;
If men all, on Earths mould, be madding thus.
The Voice.
Guilt of few hómicide Rulers, whose lewd life,
Is Nations' death. Was known, Kings of the Earth,
Of late conspired, malgré all covenants;
For lordship of the World; which being achieved
By scelerate arms; should all men be their thralls:
126
Mansoul.
Beat down, High Heavens, the bárbarous Insolence,
Of those King-churls! Their gore-stained bauble crowns,
Cast in Worlds cess-pit! Or what rests to us,
Of Hope on Earth?
The Voice.
Abhór their evil names;
Shall mány generations, to be born;
Enregistered, in the Dark Womb of Time.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |