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angels art thou beauty beggar Behold beneath bless'd blush bread bread-tax Bread-tax'd breast bright brow cheek clouds Corn Law cried curse dark dead dear death deeds despair didst died dread dreams earth England eyes fear fire fled flower Freedom's gaze Gihon gloom glow gone grave groat hand hast hate hath havock hear heard heart heav'n hell high Raising hope JEREMY BENTHAM King labour land light live look look'd Lord millions night o'er ocean oppose the Corn pale pass'd pauper poem poor pride racter Rhin Rivelin rock rose Saint Saint Helena Satan Satraps scorn seem'd SHEFFIELD INDEPENDENT sigh sire slave sleep smile soul Squire stood Striga sublime sweet tears Thane thee thine thou art thought Timna toil turn'd tyrants vale vex'd voice waves weep wept wheat wild wing workhouse worm wretch Zillah
Page 113 - Nor plume, nor torse — No splendour gilds, all sternly met, Our foot and horse. But, dark and still, we inly glow, Condensed in ire ! Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know Our gloom is fire. In vain your pomp, ye evil powers, Insults the land ; Wrongs, vengeance, and the cause are ours, And God's right hand ! Madmen ! they trample into snakes The wormy clod ! Like fire, beneath their feet awakes The sword of God ! Behind, before, above, below, They rouse the brave ; Where'er they go, they make...
Page 137 - Shine on the artisan, — thy purest air Breathe on the bread-tax'd labourer's deep despair ! Poor sons of toil ! I grudge them not the breeze That plays with Sabbath flowers, the clouds that play With Sabbath winds, the hum of Sabbath bees, The Sabbath walk, the skylark's Sabbath lay, The silent sunshine of the Sabbath day.
Page 213 - BOOK I. I SING of men and angels, and the days When God repented him that he had made Man on the earth : when crimes alone won praise When the few righteous were with curses paid, And none seem'd vile as they whom truth betray' d Till hope despair'd her myriad sons to save, And giant sin fill'd up their universal grave.
Page 121 - Let poor men's children, pleas'd to read his lays, Love, for his sake, the scenes where he hath been And, when he ends his pilgrimage of days, Let him be buried where the grass is green ; Where daisies, blooming earliest, linger late To hear the bee his busy note prolong — There let him slumber, and in peace await The dawning morn, far from the sensnal throng, Who scorn the windflower's blush, the redbreast's lonely song.
Page 118 - The Press!" all lands shall sing ; The Press, the Press we bring, All lands to bless: Oh, pallid want!
Page 140 - Like angel's wings ; while skies of blue and gold Stoop to Miles Gordon on the mountain's brow. Behold the Great Unpaid ! the prophet, lo ! Sublime he stands beneath the Gospel tree, And Edmund stands on Shirecliffe at his side...
Page 173 - Draws to a close ! ev'n now is rent in twain The loveliest link that binds thy breast to woe. Soon, broken heart, we soon shall meet again '.* Then o'er my face her freezing hand she cross'd, And, bending, kiss'd me, with her lip of frost.
Page 113 - Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark ; What then ? 'Tis day ! We sleep no more ; the cock crows — hark ! To arms ! away ! They come ! they come ! the knell is rung Of us or them ; Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung Of gold and gem. What collared hound of lawless sway, To famine dear — What pensioned slave of Attila, Leads in the rear?
Page 145 - Nor doth the Deity they worshipp'd drive His four-in-hand, applaud a smutty tale, Send Members to the House, and us to gaol. With zeal they preach'd, with reverence they were heard ; For in their daring creed, sublime, sincere, Danger was found, that parson-hated word ' They flatter'd none — they knew nor hate nor fear, But taught the will of God — and did it here. Even as the fire-wing'd thunder rends the cloud, Their spoken lightnings, dazzling all the land, Abash'd the foreheads of the great...
Page 176 - I cannot come, with broken heart, to sigh O'er his loved dust, and strew with flowers his turf; His pillow hath no cover but the surf; I may not pour the soul-drop from mine eye Near his cold bed : he slumbers in the wave ! Oh ! I will love the sea, because it is his grave ! LESSON XCVII.