Imatges de pÓgina

LXXVIII. "Let the horsemen's scimitars Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars, Thirsting to eclipse their burning In a sea of death and mourning.

LXIX. "From the haunts of daily life, Where is waged the daily strife With common wants and common

cares, Wirich sow the human heart with tares;

“ Lastly, from the palaces,
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Oi a wind alive around;

LXXIX. “Stand ye calm and resolute, Like a forest close and mute; With folded arms, and looks which are Weapons of an unvanquished war.

LXXX. · And let Panic, who outspeeds The career of armed steeds, Pass, a disregarded shade, Through your phalanx undismayed.

LXXXI. “Let the laws of your own land, Good or ill, between ye stand, Hand to hand, and foot to foot, Arbiters of the dispute.


LXXXII. ** The old laws of England--they Whose reverend heads with age are

Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo-Liberty !

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LXXI. "Those prison-halls of wealth and

fashion, Where some few feel such compassion For those who groan, and toil, and

As must make their brethren pale;

"Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold;

Let a vast assembly be,
And with a great solemnity
Declare with measured words, that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free !

LXXIV. "Be your strong and simple words keen to wound as sharpened swords, Ind wide as targes let them be; With their shade to cover ye.

"Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.

"Let the charged artillery drive,
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses' heels.

"Let the fixed bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood,
Looking keen as one for food.

LXXXIII. On those who first should violate Such sacred heralds in their state, Rest the blood that must ensue, And it will not rest on you.


"And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you inere;
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew
What they like, that let them do.

· With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear and less surprise,
Look upon them as they say
Till their rage has died away:

LXXXVI. ". Then they will return with shame, To the place from which they came, And the blood thus shed will speak In hot blushes on their cheek:


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HONEY from silkworms who can gather,

Or silk from the yellow bee?
The grass may grow in winter weather,

As soon as hate in me.
Hate men who cant, and men who pray,

And men who rail like thee;
An equal passion to repay,-

They are not coy like me.
Or seek some slave of power and gold,

To be thy dear heart's mate,
Thy love will move that bigot cold,

Sooner than me, thy hate.
A passion like the one I prove

Cannot divided be;
I hate thy want of truth and love,

How should I then hate thee?




CORPSES are cold in the tomb;
Stones on the pavement are dumb;

Abortions are dead in the womb,
And their mothers look pale-like the white shore

Of Albion, free no more.

Her sons are as stones in the way-
They are masses of senseless clay-

They are trodden, and move not away;
The abortion with which she travaileth

Is Liberty, smitten to death.


Then trample and dance, thou oppressor,
For thy victim is no redressor !

Thou art sole lord and possessor
Of her corpses and clods and abortions—they pave
Thy path to the grave.

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

Spread thy couch in the chamber of Life!
Marry Ruin, thou tyrant ! and God be thy guide

To the bed of the bride !


Men of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?

Wherefore feed and clothe and save,
From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would
Drain your sweat-nay, drink your blood ?

Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?

Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm ?
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?

The seed ye sow another reaps;
The wealth ye find another keeps;
The robes ye weave another wears;
The arms ye forge another bears.

Sow seed,-but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth,—let no impostor heap;
Weave robes,-let not the idle wear;
Forge arms, in your defence to bear.

Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
In halls ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

With plough and spade and hoe and loom,
Trace your grave, and build your tomb,
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre !


As from an ancestral oak

Two empty ravens sound their clarion,
Yell by yell and croak by croak,
When they scent the noonday smoke
Of fresh human carrion:

As two gibbering night-birds flit

From their bowers of deadly hue
Through the night to frighten it,
When the moon is in a fit,
And the stars are none or few:

As a shark and dogfish wait

Under an Atlantic isle
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,
Two crows perched on the murrained cattle,

Two vipers tangled into one.

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, -

Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn, mud from a muddy spring, -

Rulers who neither see nor feel nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,

Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,-
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field, —

An army which liberticide and prey
Make as a two-edged sword to all who wield, -

Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay,–
Religion Christless, Godless, a book sealed, -
A Senate-ime's worst statute unrepealed,

Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst to illumine our tempestuous day.




Gov) prosper, speed, and save,
God raise from England's grave,

Her murdered Queen!
Pave with swift victory
The steps of Liberty,
Whom Britons own to be

Immortal Queen!

See, she comes throned on high
On swift Eternity!

God save the Queen !
Millions on millions wait,
Firm, rapid, and elate,
On her majestic state-

God save the Queen !

She is Thine own pure soul
Moulding the mighty whole.

God save the Queen !
She is Thine own deep love
Rained down from heaven above.
Wherever she rest or move,

God save our Queen !

'Wilder her enemies
In their own dark disguise !

God save our Queen !
All earthly things that dare
Her sacred name to bear,
Strip them, as kings are, bare;

God save the Queen !

Be her eternal throne
Built in our hearts alone-

God save the Queen !
Let the oppressor hold
Canopied seats of gold;
She sits enthroned of old

O'er our hearts Queen.

Lips touched by seraphim
Breathe out the choral hymn,

"God save the Queen !"
Sweet as if angels sang,
Loud as that trumpet's clang
Wakening the world's dead gang. -

God save the Qucen!

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