英汉传2:6地的世世代代也这样进坟墓，出母胎，仍旧存留那使世界更新的不灭的变化。就像枯年刺骨的霜风把树叶撒在森林的土壤上，在那里堆了好几个季节——虽然它们长时间窒息，把土地上令人厌恶的腐烂，所有希望的萌芽，然而，当它们倒下的高大树木，剪掉了它们可爱的形状，与地面平躺在一起腐烂时，它们使土地肥沃，它们长期变形;从生机盎然的草坪里，会涌出一片森林，青春、正直和可爱，就像那赋予它生命的东西，从生到死。这样，自寻死路的自私自利，摧残了敞开的心灵最美好的感情，注定要腐朽，而一切美德，一切欢乐，一切爱情，都将从泥土中萌芽，而判断力也将停止与情欲的不可征服的势力进行不自然的战争。宗教的孪生姐妹，自私!在罪恶和谎言中竞争，模仿她血腥游戏中所有的肆意恐怖;然而，它却是冰冷的，冷漠的，没有生气的，回避着光明，不承认它的名字，由于它的畸形，它不得不用正义和权利的薄薄面纱来掩盖它的丑陋的面貌，除了无知的后代，所有的人都害怕;暴政的起因和结果;厚颜无耻、冷酷无情、淫荡下流;对一切爱情都已麻木，只对它的卑贱麻木; With heart impassive by more noble powers Than unshared pleasure, sordid gain, or fame; Despising its own miserable being, Which still it longs, yet fears, to disenthrall. 'Hence commerce springs, the venal interchange Of all that human art or Nature yield; Which wealth should purchase not, but want demand, And natural kindness hasten to supply From the full fountain of its boundless love, Forever stifled, drained and tainted now. Commerce! beneath whose poison-breathing shade No solitary virtue dares to spring, But poverty and wealth with equal hand Scatter their withering curses, and unfold The doors of premature and violent death To pining famine and full-fed disease, To all that shares the lot of human life, Which, poisoned body and soul, scarce drags the chain That lengthens as it goes and clanks behind. 'Commerce has set the mark of selfishness, The signet of its all-enslaving power, Upon a shining ore, and called it gold; Before whose image bow the vulgar great, The vainly rich, the miserable proud, The mob of peasants, nobles, priests and kings, And with blind feelings reverence the power That grinds them to the dust of misery. But in the temple of their hireling hearts Gold is a living god and rules in scorn All earthly things but virtue. 'Since tyrants by the sale of human life Heap luxuries to their sensualism, and fame To their wide-wasting and insatiate pride, Success has sanctioned to a credulous world The ruin, the disgrace, the woe of war. His hosts of blind and unresisting dupes The despot numbers; from his cabinet These puppets of his schemes he moves at will, Even as the slaves by force or famine driven, Beneath a vulgar master, to perform A task of cold and brutal drudgery;- Hardened to hope, insensible to fear, Scarce living pulleys of a dead machine, Mere wheels of work and articles of trade, That grace the proud and noisy pomp of wealth! 'The harmony and happiness of man Yields to the wealth of nations; that which lifts His nature to the heaven of its pride, Is bartered for the poison of his soul; The weight that drags to earth his towering hopes, Blighting all prospect but of selfish gain, Withering all passion but of slavish fear, Extinguishing all free and generous love Of enterprise and daring, even the pulse That fancy kindles in the beating heart To mingle with sensation, it destroys,- Leaves nothing but the sordid lust of self, The grovelling hope of interest and gold, Unqualified, unmingled, unredeemed Even by hypocrisy. And statesmen boast Of wealth! The wordy eloquence that lives After the ruin of their hearts, can gild The bitter poison of a nation's woe; Can turn the worship of the servile mob To their corrupt and glaring idol, fame, From virtue, trampled by its iron tread,- Although its dazzling pedestal be raised Amid the horrors of a limb-strewn field, With desolated dwellings smoking round. The man of ease, who, by his warm fireside, To deeds of charitable intercourse And bare fulfilment of the common laws Of decency and prejudice confines The struggling nature of his human heart, Is duped by their cold sophistry; he sheds A passing tear perchance upon the wreck Of earthly peace, when near his dwelling's door The frightful waves are driven,-when his son Is