Haswell Explosion, Northumberland. 28th. September 1844.

In far Goland and Omans sea,

The search from vain luxury

May loose his life, and Pity shed,

A few cold tear drops o'er his bed;

But here, were hindered for our Good

Are undemanding life and food

Most hardly cared, how should we weep

To see ones ingenious sweep

So many being snatched by fate

So many left to desolate

How many tears were broken there?

How many hopes changed to despair?

Oh! this is the subject for true grief

When even in tears can't find relief.

And then the solemn cavalcade

The melancholy long parade

That through the churchyard slowly wends,

With widows, orphans, sisters, friends

Fathers and mothers all in tears

Weeping o'er untimely biers

This is a scene to wound the sense

Of Heart with Pity's last pretence.