82. "Let the laws of your own land, Good or ill, between ye stand, Hand to hand, and foot to foot, Arbiters of the dispute-
83. "The old laws of England-they Whose reverend heads with age are grey, Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be Thine own echo-Liberty !
84. "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 there, Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew: What they like, that let them do.
86. "With folded arms and steady eyes, And little fear and less surprise, Look upon them as they slay, Till their rage has died away.
87. "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.
88. "Every woman in the land Will point at them as they stand- They will hardly dare to greet Their acquaintance in the street:
89. "And the bold true warriors Who have hugged danger in the wars Will turn to those who would be free, Ashamed of such base company:
90. "And that slaughter to the nation Shall steam up like inspiration, Eloquent, oracular,
A volcano heard afar :
91. "And these words shall then become Like Oppression's thundered doom, Ringing through each heart and brain, Heard again-again-again!
92. "Rise, like lions after slumber, In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth, like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you! Ye are many-they are few!
WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION.
ORPSES 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.
2. 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.
3. Than 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.
4. 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.
5. 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!
SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND.
EN of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay you low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear?
2 Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would Drain your sweat-nay, drink your blood?
3. Wherefore, Bees of England, forge Many a weapon, chain, and scourge, That these stingless drones may spoil The forced produce of your toil?
4. 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?
5. The seed ye sow another reaps; The wealth ye find another keeps ; The robes ye weave another wears; The arms ye forge another bears.
6. 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.
7. 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.
8. 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 !
N old, mad, blind, despised, and dying kingPrinces, 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 blowA people starved and stabbed in the untilled fieldAn 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-time's worst statute unrepealed- Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may Burst to illumine our tempestuous day.
SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.
S 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 :-
2. 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
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