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Again I leave this question to the astute Sheldon. The date is March, 1749. "M. is but porely. Sumtimes I am pain'd to believe this quiett life is not well suted to herr disposishun, having bin acustumed to so much livlinesse and nois.
There are few persons, who have not been properly impressed by the following lines: "My ear is pain'd, My soul is sick with every day's report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, It does not feel for man. The nat'ral bond Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
It pain'd cruelly, but I shut my teeth: and after that came the smart and delicious ache of water, as she rinsed the wound. "Clean through the flesh, lad: in an' out, like country dancin'. No bullet to probe nor bone to set. Heart up, soce! Thy mother shall kiss thee yet. What's thy name?" "Marvel, Joan Jack Marvel." "An' marvel 'tis thou'rt Marvel yet.
Creeping out with caution, I grew aware of two mournful facts: first, that the stable was indeed afire, as I perceiv'd by standing on tiptoe and looking over the hedge; and second, that my knee was hurt by Black Dick's bullet. The muscles had stiffened while we were crouching, and now pain'd me badly. Yet I kept it to myself as we started off again to run.
"O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where tumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more! My ear is pain'd, My soul is sick with every day's report, Of wrong and outrage, with which earth is fill'd. Lands, intersected by a narrow frith, Abhor each other.
My ear is pain'd, My soul is sick with every day's report, Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, It does not feel for man. The natural bond Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
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