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RITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGI ADMINISTRATION
CORPses are cold in the tomb,
Abortions are dead in the womb,
Of Albion, free no more.
Her sons are as stones in the way;
They are trodden and move not away ;
Is Liberty-smitten to death.
Then trample and dance, thou oppressor;
Thou art sole lord and possessor
Thy path to the grave.
Hearest thou the festival din
And wealth, crying Havoc! within ?
Ay, marry thy ghastly wife!
Spread thy couch in the chamber of life; Marry Ruin, thou tyrant! and God be thy guide
To the bed of the bride.
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 ;
With plough and spade, and hoe and loom,
ENGLAND IN 1819.
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,
FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.
As from an ancestral oak
Two empty ravens sound their clarion,
Of fresh human carrion ;
As two gibbering night-birds flit,
From their bowers of deadly hue, Through the night to frighten it, When the morn is in a fit,
And the stars are none or few;
As a shark and dog-fish wait
Under an Atlantic isle,
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.
TO THE ASSERTORS OF LIBERTY.
ARISE, arise, arise! There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread ; Be your
wounds like eyes To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead. What other grief were it just to pay ? Your sons, your wives, your brethren, were they ; Who said they were slain on the battle-day?
Awaken, awaken, awaken!
Be the cold chains shaken