Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/170

 Steaming with tyrant-murder'd multitudes; Or where mid groans and shrieks loud-laughing More hideous packs his bales of living anguish; I will raise up a mourning, O ye Fiends! And curse your spells, that film the eye of Faith; Hiding the present God, whose presence lost, The moral world's cohesion, we become An Anarchy of Spirits! Toy-bewitch'd, Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul No common center Man, no common fire Knoweth! A sordid solitary thing, Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart Thro' courts and cities the smooth Savage roams Feeling himself, his own low Self the whole, When he by sacred sympathy might make