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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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748 The Choice .
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Lo ! does the blood rush back upon the hearts Of those he honoured ; studied , loved , and died for ? Do men look awe-struck , and , as feeling death . Gasp in unspoken horror ? Save the few Bound to him or by friendship , or near kindred , No creature weeps the havoc death has made * But the scene changes : what do you behold ? Edgar . A mourning city ! Surely pestilence Hath done its drear and awful work upon it ? Crowds in funereal raiment throng the way , And anxious features , pale with woe or watching , Flash ever and anon as with a pang Of grief renew ed well nigh to reason ' s ruin . What is their cause of errief ?
Karl . A woman ' s death . Edgar . Their benefactress ? Karl . Few of them e ' er saw her ; The many of them had their hard-earned pittance Abridged , that she might live in idle pomp , Bedight in costliest gems , and looking down In insolent scorn on those who starved to feed her , And groaned beneath her grandsire ' s lust of war , And her sire ' s love of—every thing but virtue . 'Tis a brave world you sigh to rush upon !
The man of many minds ; the giant-child , Giant in intellect and child in goodness , Descends untimely , hoary though he was , To the appalling darkness of the tomb . What then ? The magnates of his nation feast And trifle on in their ignoble wont ; The peasant—thousands whom he lov'd and taught , Rush hot as ever to the low debauch ; Half-naked harlots trill lascivious lays , Featly buffoons display their brutal conynge , And the unthinking and ungrateful thousands Roar their applause and shake with low delight . The proud one ' s child whom Death , —uncourteous
Death—Alone prevents from grinding in her turn With iron hand and wayward intellect A mighty , ignorant , and thoughtless people . She , the young minion of an accident , Is followed to her grave by mourning thousands , Who sacrifice bread-winning industry To honour her who would perhaps have scorned them ! Who would not serve so grateful and so wise , So sympathetic and so just a people ? Edgar . Karl , Karl , forbear ! I will not hear you thus Insult the living and malign the dead ; Some reason good they must have had to love her . Karl . So they all said : her beauty and her virtue Were trumpeted by hireling tongue and pen . Thanks to my ill-matched limbs , and extra share
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Nov. 2, 1833, page 748, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2626/page/16/
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