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46
THE FAMINE.
Be proud, my lord! few men can ride upon a course like thine,
Drive where thou wilt—to East or West—from London to the Tyne.
Your chariot-wheels are rolling o'er famished heart and head—
Your horses' hoofs are trampling down a life at every tread.
And proud be thou, fair Lady! so royally arrayed
In robes for which the nakedness of half a realm hath paid.
Thy train hath stripped the shivering limbs of daughters and of wives—
The jewel beaming on thy brow hath cost a hundred lives.
Drive where thou wilt—to East or West—from London to the Tyne.
Your chariot-wheels are rolling o'er famished heart and head—
Your horses' hoofs are trampling down a life at every tread.
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In robes for which the nakedness of half a realm hath paid.
Thy train hath stripped the shivering limbs of daughters and of wives—
The jewel beaming on thy brow hath cost a hundred lives.
And prouder yet, oh Holy Church! thy favored sons may be,
O'er every wealthy “living” the dying yield for thee.
Still portion each fat benefice—still pile thee stones on stones —
And rear the fane that mocks at God, o'er famine-buried bones.
Let stoles be donned—let prayers be conned—let solemn anthems flow—
And whiten each sepulchral soul with all of outward show.
O'er every wealthy “living” the dying yield for thee.
Still portion each fat benefice—still pile thee stones on stones —
And rear the fane that mocks at God, o'er famine-buried bones.
Let stoles be donned—let prayers be conned—let solemn anthems flow—
And whiten each sepulchral soul with all of outward show.
And proudest, happiest far of all, America, be thou!
Whose barns are filled to bursting—whose granaries o'erflow.
Who, while the nations stand aghast, in wonder and in fear,
Art fattening on the famine that brings thee gold and gear.
Hurra! their gold, like drops of blood, is coming thick and fast!
Each mite their wasted hands can earn shall be thine own at last.
Whose barns are filled to bursting—whose granaries o'erflow.
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Art fattening on the famine that brings thee gold and gear.
Hurra! their gold, like drops of blood, is coming thick and fast!
Each mite their wasted hands can earn shall be thine own at last.
Ho, portly alderman! dost think, amid thy money-bags,
Of men who feed on offal? of women clad in rags?
Ho, gentle maiden! that in warm and lighted rooms displayst
The naked arm, the naked throat, the almost naked breast!
Hast thou no angel-charity, no kindness to fulfil
For those on whom this winter storm beats down more naked still?
Of men who feed on offal? of women clad in rags?
Ho, gentle maiden! that in warm and lighted rooms displayst
The naked arm, the naked throat, the almost naked breast!
Hast thou no angel-charity, no kindness to fulfil
For those on whom this winter storm beats down more naked still?
Ho, thou that revellest at ease, on goodly sinecure!
Whose hounds are mumbling over bread snatched from the starving poor!
Canst thou remember thee of him, whose fate was fixed of old,
Whose dogs did lick the beggar's sores—in ancient story told?
A day shall come ye little know—an hour ye little heed—
When He, whom ye forsake on earth, shall leave ye at your need.
“Depart, I never knew ye! in mine abandoned lot,
Hungered, ye gave me nought to eat—naked, ye clothed me not.”
Whose hounds are mumbling over bread snatched from the starving poor!
Canst thou remember thee of him, whose fate was fixed of old,
Whose dogs did lick the beggar's sores—in ancient story told?
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When He, whom ye forsake on earth, shall leave ye at your need.
“Depart, I never knew ye! in mine abandoned lot,
Hungered, ye gave me nought to eat—naked, ye clothed me not.”
Dost marvel at this picture? proud citizen, 'tis thine!
And thine, oh priest! whose pompous tone goes up before the shrine.
'Tis thine, sleek man of office! thine, lawyer rich and keen!
'Tis thine, fair dame! 'tis thine, proud peer! 'tis thine—anointed Queen!
Ye, who can call right loudly upon his Holy Name,
Yet never know your suppliant Lord in anguish and in shame.
And thine, oh priest! whose pompous tone goes up before the shrine.
'Tis thine, sleek man of office! thine, lawyer rich and keen!
'Tis thine, fair dame! 'tis thine, proud peer! 'tis thine—anointed Queen!
Ye, who can call right loudly upon his Holy Name,
Yet never know your suppliant Lord in anguish and in shame.
Oh, thou that sittest by the hearth, thy fireside filled with light,
Thy children all around thee, their faces beaming bright!
Hast thou ever thought, while gazing upon its pleasant glow,
Of the naked feet—of the wasted forms—that wander in frost and snow?
Thy children all around thee, their faces beaming bright!
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Of the naked feet—of the wasted forms—that wander in frost and snow?
And thou that in thy cheerful hall art sitting down to dine!
Thy table heaped with costly cates, and bright with sunny wine—
Hast thou remembered thee of those, to whom the coarsest fare
Were food bestowed from heaven? if not, how canst thou dare
To ask a blessing on thy board, while Famine, even now,
Is gnawing at a million hearts—each dear to God as thou!
Thy table heaped with costly cates, and bright with sunny wine—
Hast thou remembered thee of those, to whom the coarsest fare
Were food bestowed from heaven? if not, how canst thou dare
To ask a blessing on thy board, while Famine, even now,
Is gnawing at a million hearts—each dear to God as thou!
February 9th, 1847.
Some very good people, (in their way,) have objected to the ideas advanced in this piece that they are too strongly worded. I only regret that the insufficiency of our language, or my own insufficiency in using it, has prevented me from expressing them more forcibly. The denunciation which these lines convey, is intended for no one, who does not deserve it. In almost every class of persons to which allusion is here made, there are numberless bright examples of goodness and beneficence—there are also many, very many, whose demeanor, whether active or passive, has been atrocious, and it is to awaken the shame and alarm the conscience of these that the verses have been written.
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