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SONG.

[Like a rootless rose or lily]

Like a rootless rose or lily;
Like a sad and life-long sigh;
Like a bird pursued and weary,
Doom'd to flutter till it die;
Landless, restless, joyless, hopeless,
Gasping still for bread and breath,
To their graves by trouble hunted,
Albion's helots toil for death.

125

Tardy day of hoarded ruin,
Wild Niagara of blood!
Coming sea of headlong millions,
Vainly seeking work and food!
Why is famine reaped for harvest?
Planted curses always grow;
Where the plough makes want its symbol,
Fools will gather as they sow.