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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478381" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To The Lord Chancellor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest<br>Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm<br>Which rends our Mother’s bosom—Priestly Pest!<br>Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold,<br>Truth trampled, Nature’s landmarks overthrown,<br>And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold,<br>Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>And whilst that sure slow Angel which aye stands<br>Watching the beck of Mutability <br>Delays to execute her high commands,<br>And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>Oh, let a father's curse be on thy soul,<br>And let a daughter's hope be on thy tomb;<br>Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden cowl<br>To weigh thee down to thine approaching doom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>I curse thee by a parent's outraged love,<br>By hopes long cherished and too lately lost,<br>By gentle feelings thou couldst never prove,<br>By griefs which thy stern nature never crossed;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>By those infantine smiles of happy light,<br>Which were a fire within a stranger's hearth,<br>Quenched even when kindled, in untimely night<br>Hiding the promise of a lovely birth:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>By those unpractised accents of young speech,<br>Which he who is a father thought to frame<br>To gentlest lore, such as the wisest teach--<br>THOU strike the lyre of mind!--oh, grief and shame!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>By all the happy see in children's growth--<br>That undeveloped flower of budding years--<br>Sweetness and sadness interwoven both,<br>Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest fears--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>By all the days, under an hireling's care,<br>Of dull constraint and bitter heaviness,--<br>O wretched ye if ever any were,--<br>Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>By the false cant which on their innocent lips<br>Must hang like poison on an opening bloom,<br>By the dark creeds which cover with eclipse<br>Their pathway from the cradle to the tomb--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>By thy most impious Hell, and all its terror;<br>By all the grief, the madness, and the guilt<br>Of thine impostures, which must be their error--<br>That sand on which thy crumbling power is built--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>By thy complicity with lust and hate--<br>Thy thirst for tears—thy hunger after gold--<br>The ready frauds which ever on thee wait--<br>The servile arts in which thou hast grown old--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>By thy most killing sneer, and by thy smile--<br>By all the arts and snares of thy black den,<br>And—for thou canst outweep the crocodile--<br>By thy false tears—those millstones braining men--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>By all the hate which checks a father's love--<br>By all the scorn which kills a fathe's care--<br>By those most impious hands which dared remove<br>Nature’s high bounds--by thee--and by despair--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>Yes, the despair which bids a father groan,<br>And cry, 'My children are no longer mine--<br>The blood within those veins may be mine own,<br>But--Tyrant--their polluted souls are thine;— 60</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.<br>I curse thee--though I hate thee not.--O slave!<br>If thou couldst quench the earth-consuming Hell<br>Of which thou art a daemon, on thy grave<br>This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Percy+Bysshe+Shelley">Percy Bysshe Shelley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478381" data-title="To The Lord Chancellor de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="I.
Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest
Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm
Which rends our Mother’s bosom—Priestly Pest!
Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!

II.
Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold,
Truth trampled, Nat..."></div>
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