[from his play Osorio, later called Remorse] <br />Song <br /> <br />(Act V, scene i) <br /> <br />And this place our forefathers made for man ! <br />This is the process of our Love and Wisdom, <br />To each poor brother who offends against us-- <br />Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty ? <br />Is this the only cure ? Merciful God ! <br />Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up <br />By Ignorance and parching Poverty, <br />His energies roll back upon his heart, <br />And stagnate and corrupt ; till chang'd to poison, <br />They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot ; <br />Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks-- <br />And this is their best cure ! uncomforted <br />And friendless Solitude, Groaning and Tears, <br />And savage Faces, at the clanking hour, <br />Seen through the steams and vapour of his dungeon, <br />By the lamp's dismal twilight ! So he lies <br />Circled with evil, till his very soul <br />Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd <br />By sights of ever more deformity ! <br /> <br />With other ministrations thou, O Nature ! <br />Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child : <br />Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, <br />Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, <br />Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, <br />Till he relent, and can no more endure <br />To be a jarring and a dissonant thing, <br />Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; <br />But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, <br />His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd <br />By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty.<br /><br />Samuel Taylor Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dungeon-5/
