#mcr#gerard way#mikey way#long live the black parade#frank iero
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And all, like controversial writing, Were born with teeth, and sprung up fighting.
An Inventory of the Furniture in Dr. Priestleyās Study, Anna Letitia Barbauld
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The idea of animals having rights within any humane society was recognised early by female scientists. Anna Barbauld, the brilliant young assistant to Joseph Priestley FRS, the great 18th-century chemist, noticed the distress of his laboratory animals as they were steadily deprived of air in glass vacuum jars, during the experiments in which he first discovered oxygen (1774). Accordingly, she wrote a poem in the voice of one of Priestley's laboratory mice and stuck it in the bars of the mouse's cage for Priestley to find the next morning. She entitled it: "The Mouse's Petition to Dr Priestley, Found in the Trap where he had been Confined all Night". For here forlorn and sad I sit, Within the wiry Grate, And tremble at the approaching Morn Which brings impending fateā¦ The cheerful light, the Vital Air, Are blessings widely given; Let Nature's commoners enjoy The common gifts of Heaven. The well-taught philosophic mind To all Compassion gives; Casts round the world an Equal eye, And feels for all that lives. The notion that animals and, indeed, all life-forms on Earth, had a right to "the common gifts of heaven" can be seen as the first stirrings of the whole environmental movement and the demands it now makes upon science and industry.
Richard Holmes [source]
"The dead of midnight is the noon of thought."
Ā Anna Barbauld
To a Little Invisible Being Who is Expected Soon to Become Visible -- Anna Barbauld
Germ of new life, whose powers expanding slow For many a moon their full perfection wait,ā Haste, precious pledge of happy love, to go Auspicious borne through life's mysterious gate.
What powers lie folded in thy curious frame,ā Senses from objects locked, and mind from thought! How little canst thou guess thy lofty claim To grasp at all the worlds the Almighty wrought!
And see, the genial season's warmth to share, Fresh younglings shoot, and opening roses glow! Swarms of new life exulting fill the air,ā Haste, infant bud of being, haste to blow!
For thee the nurse prepares her lulling songs, The eager matrons count the lingering day; But far the most thy anxious parent longs On thy soft cheek a mother's kiss to lay.
She only asks to lay her burden down, That her glad arms that burden may resume; And nature's sharpest pangs her wishes crown, That free thee living from thy living tomb.
She longs to fold to her maternal breast Part of herself, yet to herself unknown; To see and to salute the stranger guest, Fed with her life through many a tedious moon.
Come, reap thy rich inheritance of love! Bask in the fondness of a Mother's eye! Nor wit nor eloquence her heart shall move Like the first accents of thy feeble cry.
Haste, little captive, burst thy prison doors! Launch on the living world, and spring to light! Nature for thee displays her various stores, Opens her thousand inlets of delight.
If charmed verse or muttered prayers had power, With favouring spells to speed thee on thy way, Anxious I'd bid my beads each passing hour, Till thy wished smile thy mother's pangs o'erpay.
"The well-taught philosophic mind To all compassion gives; Casts round the world an equal eye, And feels for all that lives."
--Anna L. Barbauld,Ā The Mouse's Petition, 1773
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"This dead of midnight is the noon of thought, And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars."
--Anna L. Barbauld, A Summer Evening's Meditation, 1773
To the Poor
Child of distress, who meetāst the bitter scorn Of fellow-men to happier prospects born, Doomed Art and Natureās various stores to see Flow in full cups of joyāand not for thee; Who seest the rich, to heaven and fate resigned, Bear thy afflictions with a patient mind; Whose bursting heart disdains unjust control, Who feelāst oppressionās iron in thy soul, Who draggāst the load of faint and feeble years, Whose bread is anguish, and whose water tears; Bear, bear thy wrongsāfulfill thy destined hour, Bend thy meek neck beneath the foot of Power; But when thou feelāst the great deliverer nigh, And thy freed spirit mounting seeks the sky, Let no vain fears thy parting hour molest, No whispered terrors shake thy quiet breast: Think not their threats can work thy future woe, Nor deem the Lord above like lords below;ā Safe in the bosom of that love repose By whom the sun gives light, the ocean flows; Prepare to meet a Father undismayed, Nor fear the God whom priests and kings have made.
ā Anna Barbauld (1825)
How deep the silence, yet how loud the praise! But are they silent all? or is there not A tongue in ever star that talks with man... This dead of midnight is the noon of thought.
