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O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness,
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Some boundless contiguity of shade,
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Where rumor of oppression and deceit,
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Of unsuccessful or successful war,
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Might never reach me more. My ear is pained,
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5
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My soul is sick, with every day’s report
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Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
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There is no flesh in man’s obdurate heart,
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It does not feel for man; the natural bond
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Of brotherhood is severed as the flax
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10
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That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
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He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
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Not colored like his own; and having power
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To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
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Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
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15
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Lands intersected by a narrow frith
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Abhor each other. Mountains interposed
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Make enemies of nations, who had else
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Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
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Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
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20
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And, worse than all, and most to be deplored,
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As human nature’s broadest, foulest blot,
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Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
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With stripes, that Mercy, with a bleeding heart,
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Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.
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25
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