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Steaming with tyrant-murder'd multitudes;
Or where mid groans and shrieks loud-laughing trade160
More hideous packs his bales of living anguish;
I will raise up a mourning, O ye Fiends!
And curse your spells, that film the eye of Faith;
Hiding the present God, whose presence lost,
The moral world's cohesion, we become165
An Anarchy of Spirits! Toy-bewitch'd,
Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul
No common center Man, no common fire
Knoweth! A sordid solitary thing,
Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart170
Thro' courts and cities the smooth Savage roams
Feeling himself, his own low Self the whole,
When he by sacred sympathy might make
