O who shall, from this dungeon, raise A soul enslaved so many ways? With bolts of bones, that fettered stands In feet; and manacled in hands. Here blinded with an eye; and there Deaf with the drumming of an ear. A soul hung up, as 'twere, in chains Of neves and arteries, and veins. Tortur'd, besides each other part, In a vain head, and double heart

O who shall me deliver whole, From bonds of this tyrannic soul? Which, stretched up right, impales me so, That mine own precipice I go; And warms and moves this needless frame: (A fever could but do the same.) And wanting where its spite to try, Has made me live to let me die. A body that could never rest, Since this ill spirit is possessed.

MY childhood's home I see again, And sadden with the view; And still, as memory crowds my brain, There's pleasure in it, too. O memory! thou midway world 'Twixt earth and paradise, Where things decayed and loved ones lost In dreamy shadows rise, And, I'm living in the tombs.

THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little