What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best!

The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.

Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief?

Mother, mother There's too many of you crying. Brother, brother, brother There's far too many of you dying. You know we've got to find a way To bring some lovi…

All for myself the sigh would swell, The tear of anguish start; I little knew what wilder woe Had filled the Poet's heart. I did not know the nights of gloom, …