Chapter XII

Sometimes insufferable seemed to come That wrath of sympathy: One windy night We watched through squalid panes, forlornly white, -- Amid immense machines' incessant hum -- Frail figures, gaunt and dumb, Of overlabored girls and children, bowed Above their slavish toil: "O God! -- A bomb, A bomb!" he cried, "and with one fiery cloud Expunge the horrible Caesars of this slum!"