Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 1.djvu/222

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The hallowed limit. Often has my heartAched for that quiet haven!—haven'd now,I think of those in this world's wildernessWho wander on and find no home of restTill to the grave they go! them PovertyHollow-eyed fiend, the child of Wealth and Power,Bad offspring of worse parents, aye afflicts,Cankering with her foul mildews the chill'd heart—Them Want with scorpion scourge drives to the denOf Guilt—them Slaughter with the price of deathBuys for her raven brood. Oh not on themGod of eternal justice! not on themLet fall thy thunder!
Household Deities!Then only shall be Happiness on earthWhen Man shall feel your sacred power, and loveYour tranquil joys; then shall the city standA huge void sepulchre, and rising fairAmid the ruins of the palace pileThe Olive grow, there shall the Tree of Peace
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