London

I wander thro' each charter’d street
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant’s cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear:
How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black’ning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls;
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot’s curse
Blasts the new born Infant’s tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
(Excerpt from «AMERICA»)
Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are
open;
And let his wife and children return from the opressor’s
scourge.
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream,
Singing: «The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher
morning,
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall
cease.»