Oh! intercede—that terror and disgrace
May not possess (as now) your resting-place.
What though the liquid serpent of the deep
Between lie coil’d in many a glittering ring:
Not unobserved of your pale eyes we weep,
Nor to deaf ears this doleful chant we sing;
Strong is the voice of blood through night to go,
Through night and hell, and all the realms below.
Then hear us, kindred spirits—stately Sire
And pensive Mother! wheresoe’er ye glide;