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124
SONGS OF
LONDON.
I WANDER thro' each charter'd street
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear.
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals;
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
TO TIRZAH.
WHATE'ER is born of mortal birth
Must be consumed with the earth,
To rise from generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
