XXV.

Oh, meek-eyed Pity! Tenderness of Soul! Oh, sacred source of sympathetic tears! Say, hast thou fled the Earth, whose tottering pole Can ill sustain its weight of grief and fears? Is dried your fountain, choked by crimson biers? Oh, human anguish! Yet, by man’s accord, The day shall come, when he who as in years Gone by shall dare produce thee--King or Lord-- A Pariah-brand shall wear, than Demons more abhorred!