Its victims silent, tame! That voice would hush
A seraph-choir in chorus.
"Strident, sardonic, stern; the harrying sound
Lashes them like a flail the long hours round,
Till to strained nerves 'twere sweeter
To silence it with one fierce passionate grip,
Than into some bland Lotos Land to slip,
And moon out life to metre.
"From early morn till midnight these poor slaves
Have 'served the public;' now, when nature craves