Poems, 1799 by Robert Southey
page 30 of 147 (20%)
page 30 of 147 (20%)
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For these were Hypocrites, on earth revered
As holy ones, who did in public tell Their beads, and make long prayers, and cross themselves, And call themselves most miserable sinners, That so they might be deem'd most pious saints; And go all filth, and never let a smile Bend their stern muscles, gloomy, sullen men, Barren of all affection, and all this To please their God, forsooth! and therefore SCORN Grinn'd at his patients, making them repeat Their solemn farce, with keenest raillery Tormenting; but if earnest in their prayer, They pour'd the silent sorrows of the soul To Heaven, then did they not regard his mocks Which then came painless, and HUMILITY Soon rescued them, and led to PENITENCE, That She might lead to Heaven. From thence they came, Where, in the next ward, a most wretched band Groan'd underneath the bitter tyranny Of a fierce Daemon. His coarse hair was red, Pale grey his eyes, and blood-shot; and his face Wrinkled by such a smile as Malice wears In ecstacy. Well-pleased he went around, Plunging his dagger in the hearts of some, Or probing with a poison'd lance their breasts, Or placing coals of fire within their wounds; Or seizing some within his mighty grasp, He fix'd them on a stake, and then drew back, |
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