Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/178

 Of Knowledge, ere the vernal sap had risen, Rudely disbranch'd! O blest Society! Fitliest depictur'd by some sun-scorcht waste, Where oft majestic thro' the tainted noon The fails, before whose purple pomp Who falls not prostrate dies! And where, by night, Fast by each precious fountain on green herbs The lion couches; or hyæna dips Deep in the lucid stream his bloody jaws; Or serpent rolls his vast moon-glittering bulk, Caught in whose monstrous twine Behemoth yells, His bones loud crashing!

O ye numberless, Whom foul Oppression's ruffian gluttony Drives from life's plenteous feast! O thou poor Wretch,