 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
79
ON CRUELTY
Compassion sighs, and feels, and weeps,
Retracing every pain
Inhuman man, in vengeance, heaps
On all the lower train.
Retracing every pain
Inhuman man, in vengeance, heaps
On all the lower train.
Ah, Pity! oft thy heart has bled,
As galling now it bleeds;
And tender tears thy eyes have shed
To witness cruel deeds.
As galling now it bleeds;
And tender tears thy eyes have shed
To witness cruel deeds.
The lash that weal'd poor Dobbin's hide,
The strokes that cracking fall
On dogs, dumb cringing by thy side—
Ah! thou hast felt them all.
The strokes that cracking fall
On dogs, dumb cringing by thy side—
Ah! thou hast felt them all.
The burthen'd asses, 'mid the laugh
To see them whipp'd, would move
Thy soul to breathe in their behalf
Humanity and love.
To see them whipp'd, would move
Thy soul to breathe in their behalf
Humanity and love.
E'en 'plaining flies to thee have spoke,
Poor trifles as they be;
And oft the spider's web thou'st broke,
To set the captive free.
Poor trifles as they be;
And oft the spider's web thou'st broke,
To set the captive free.
The pilfering mouse, entrapp'd and cag'd
Within the wiry grate,
Thy pleading powers has oft engag'd
To mourn its rigid fate.
Within the wiry grate,
Thy pleading powers has oft engag'd
To mourn its rigid fate.
80
How beat thy breast with conscious woes,
To see the sparrows die:
Poor little thieves of many foes,
Their food they dearly buy.
To see the sparrows die:
Poor little thieves of many foes,
Their food they dearly buy.
Where nature groans, where nature cries
Beneath the butcher's knife,
How vain, how many were thy sighs,
To save such guiltless life.
Beneath the butcher's knife,
How vain, how many were thy sighs,
To save such guiltless life.
And ah! that most inhuman plan,
Where reason's name's ador'd,
Unfriendly treatment man to man
Thy tears have oft deplor'd.
Where reason's name's ador'd,
Unfriendly treatment man to man
Thy tears have oft deplor'd.
Nor wise nor good shall e'er deride
The tear in Pity's eye;
Though laugh'd to scorn by senseless pride,
From them it meets a sigh.
The tear in Pity's eye;
Though laugh'd to scorn by senseless pride,
From them it meets a sigh.
| The Poems of John Clare | |