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LINES TO A CRITIC.
HONEY from silkworms who can gather,
The grass may grow in winter weather,
Hate men who cant, and men who pray,
An equal passion to repay,—
They are not coy like me.
Or seek some slave of power and gold,
Thy love will move that bigot cold,
A passion like the one I prove
Cannot divided be;
I hate thy want of truth and love,
How should I then hate thee?
WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION.
CORPSES are cold in the tomb;
Stones on the pavement are dumb;
And their mothers look pale-like the white shore
Her sons are as stones in the way
They are masses of senseless clay-
The abortion with which she travaileth
Is Liberty, smitten to death.
Then trample and dance, thou oppressor,
Thou art sole lord and possessor
Of her corpses and clods and abortions-they pave
Hear'st thou the festival din
Of Death and Destruction and Sin
And Wealth crying "Havoc !" within ? "Tis the bacchanal triumph which makes Truth dumb, Thine epithalamium.
Ay, marry thy ghastly Wife!
Let Fear and Disquiet and Strife
SONG-TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND.
MEN of England, wherefore plough
Wherefore feed and clothe and save,
Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
The seed ye sow another reaps;
Sow seed, but let no tyrant reap;
Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
With plough and spade and hoe and loom,
SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.
As from an ancestral oak
Two empty ravens sound their clarion,
As two gibbering night-birds flit
And the stars are none or few:
As a shark and dogfish wait
For the negro-ship whose freight
Is the theme of their debate,
Wrinkling their red gills the while
Are ye, two vultures sick for battle,
Two scorpions under one wet stone,
Two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle,
ENGLAND IN 1819.
AN old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,-
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow.-
Make as a two-edged sword to all who wield,-