Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1832.pdf/6



And the dark incendiary goes through the night With a fierce and wicked joy; The wealth and the food which he may not share, He will at least destroy.

The wind, the wind, it comes from the sea, With a wailing sound it passed; 'Tis soft and mild for a winter's wind, And yet there is death on the blast.

From the south to the north hath the Cholera come, He came like a despot king; He hath swept the earth with a conqueror's step, And the air with a spirit's wing.

We shut him out with a girdle of ships, And a guarded quarantine; What ho! now which of your watchers slept? The Cholera's past your line!

There's a curse on the blessed sun and air, What will ye do for breath? For breath, which was once but a word for life, Is now but a word for death.

Wo for affection! when love must look On each face it loves with dread— Kindred and friends—when a few brief hours And the dearest may be the dead!