“我死了，我死了!”母亲说，“我的孩子们因为没有面包而死。这个无情的暴君还说了什么?”和尚坐在石头床上。血从灰僧身边流出来，他的手和脚都受伤了，他的身体弯曲，他的胳膊和膝盖像古树的根。他的眼睛是干的;一滴眼泪也流不出来。一声空洞的呻吟首先说出了他的悲哀。他躺在床上，浑身发抖;最后，他微弱地哭了一声说:“当上帝命令我的手在深半夜勤奋的时候写字时，他告诉我，我所写的东西将成为我在地球上所爱的一切的祸根。我的兄弟在两堵墙之间挨饿，他孩子的哭声使我心惊胆战;我嘲笑绞刑架和铁链，我弯曲的身体嘲笑它们折磨的痛苦。 Thy father drew his sword in the North, With his thousands strong he marched forth; Thy Brother has arm'd himself in steel To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel. But vain the Sword and vain the Bow, They never can work War's overthrow. The Hermit's prayer and the Widow's tear Alone can free the World from fear. For a Tear is an intellectual thing, And a Sigh is the sword of an Angel King, And the bitter groan of the Martyr's woe Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow. The hand of Vengeance found the bed To which the Purple Tyrant fled; The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head And became a Tyrant in his stead."