I

"Rest, rest, perturbèd Earth![BJ] O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!" A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind: "From regions where no evil thing has birth I come--thy stains to wash away, Thy cherished fetters to unbind, And open thy sad eyes upon a milder day. The Heavens are thronged with martyrs that have risen From out thy noisome prison; The penal caverns groan With tens of thousands rent from off the tree Of hopeful life,[BK]--by battle's whirlwind blown Into the deserts of Eternity. Unpitied havoc! Victims unlamented! But not on high, where madness is resented, And murder causes some sad tears to flow, Though, from the widely-sweeping blow, The choirs of Angels spread, triumphantly augmented.