Humanity, or the rights of nature, a poem in two books. By the author of sympathy [i.e. S. J. Pratt] |
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| I. |
| II. |
 | Humanity, or the rights of nature, a poem |  |
Proud of the contrast, with indignant lay,
Once more O Muse, to Gallia bend thy way;
Explore yon Cavern, frowning on the sight,
When one faint lamp sends forth a sickly light!
Through folds of darkness where yon wicket glooms,
Perfidious Power has scoop'd the living tombs,
Along the filth that oozes from the walls
The slimy snail, with track abhorent crawls,
And oft, augmenting poisons, from the top,
With sullen sound, falls slow the withering drop.
The pestilential toad that squats below
Gathers fresh venom as those poisons flow:
Here, many a fathom down, despotic Rage
Hung human victims in the dreadful cage;
Here the poor Captive, torn from child and wife,
From youth to age, groan'd out detested life;
Nor nature's sun, nor arts supplying blaze,
E're stole one beam of comfort on his days,
Nor human form, nor human hand was nigh,
To sooth the grief that gather'd in his eye,
Save one brief glance of man, as thro' the hole
His daily bread, the silent goaler stole,
No human voice beguil'd the endless night
That cruel shut him from creation's light!
To sooth a mistress wanton Louis gave,
To one who dar'd be just, this lingering grave,
To one who dare a prostitute pourtray,
And bring his honest Satire into day;
How sinks the heart to pace this gloomy round,
How pants the Muse to leave this tyrant ground!
Once more O Muse, to Gallia bend thy way;
Explore yon Cavern, frowning on the sight,
When one faint lamp sends forth a sickly light!
Through folds of darkness where yon wicket glooms,
Perfidious Power has scoop'd the living tombs,
Along the filth that oozes from the walls
The slimy snail, with track abhorent crawls,
And oft, augmenting poisons, from the top,
With sullen sound, falls slow the withering drop.
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Gathers fresh venom as those poisons flow:
Here, many a fathom down, despotic Rage
Hung human victims in the dreadful cage;
Here the poor Captive, torn from child and wife,
From youth to age, groan'd out detested life;
Nor nature's sun, nor arts supplying blaze,
E're stole one beam of comfort on his days,
Nor human form, nor human hand was nigh,
To sooth the grief that gather'd in his eye,
Save one brief glance of man, as thro' the hole
His daily bread, the silent goaler stole,
No human voice beguil'd the endless night
That cruel shut him from creation's light!
To sooth a mistress wanton Louis gave,
To one who dar'd be just, this lingering grave,
To one who dare a prostitute pourtray,
And bring his honest Satire into day;
How sinks the heart to pace this gloomy round,
How pants the Muse to leave this tyrant ground!
| Humanity, or the rights of nature, a poem | |