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 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
525
THE THREE KINGS.
Three kings there are to rule the world, and mightier none could be;
Howe'er he strive, no man alive from their control is free.
And one is yellow, and one is black, and one is white as snow:
The yellow one is the elder one, but not the stronger though.
By these and theirs the world's affairs are rigorously controlled;
And the names these mighty monarchs bear are Cotton, Coal, and Gold.
Howe'er he strive, no man alive from their control is free.
And one is yellow, and one is black, and one is white as snow:
The yellow one is the elder one, but not the stronger though.
By these and theirs the world's affairs are rigorously controlled;
And the names these mighty monarchs bear are Cotton, Coal, and Gold.
Cotton, the white, and Gold, the bright, and Coal, the sooty-grim—
Each sways a potent sceptre o'er the many who bow to him.
They are not rival sovereigns, but close allies and friends;
And each controls the other, and each to the other bends;
And each is kin to the other, and strangely, by my troth,
For Gold is the son of Cotton and Coal, though born before them both.
Each sways a potent sceptre o'er the many who bow to him.
They are not rival sovereigns, but close allies and friends;
And each controls the other, and each to the other bends;
And each is kin to the other, and strangely, by my troth,
For Gold is the son of Cotton and Coal, though born before them both.
King Cotton in the Southland dwells, far in the South alone;
The heavy hoe his sceptre is, the dented gin his throne:
King Cotton in the Southland dwells, and there his court he holds,
And there his servants gather the fleece from a hundred thousand folds:
King Cotton in the Southland dwells, but roams as suits his whim;
And he is free on every sea—no port is closed to him.
The heavy hoe his sceptre is, the dented gin his throne:
King Cotton in the Southland dwells, and there his court he holds,
And there his servants gather the fleece from a hundred thousand folds:
526
And he is free on every sea—no port is closed to him.
Though like a cowled and corded friar in rope and sack-cloth drest,
The nations clap their hands for joy when comes their welcome guest;
To build him stately ships they rob the forest of its trees;
They rend the solid rock to rear his hives of human bees;
And from their toiling peasantry they send in every land
A countless host of servitors to wait at his command.
The nations clap their hands for joy when comes their welcome guest;
To build him stately ships they rob the forest of its trees;
They rend the solid rock to rear his hives of human bees;
And from their toiling peasantry they send in every land
A countless host of servitors to wait at his command.
Wherever in our Northern clime his smile of favor beams,
Arise the castles of his peers on the banks of pleasant streams.
Ay! peers are they whom serfs obey in many a crowded room—
The barons of the spindles and the nobles of the loom.
One time good Gold was got by arms, but now our Cotton lords
By spinning-jennies win their wealth, and not by knightly swords.
Arise the castles of his peers on the banks of pleasant streams.
Ay! peers are they whom serfs obey in many a crowded room—
The barons of the spindles and the nobles of the loom.
One time good Gold was got by arms, but now our Cotton lords
By spinning-jennies win their wealth, and not by knightly swords.
King Cotton is a kindly king—through him, in autumn time,
Green fields grow white in the morning light, with the snow of the Southern clime;
Through him the loaded barges go, drawn on their many trips;
Through him the beryl seas are flecked with stout and gallant ships;
Through him a myriad shuttles click, and countless spindles whirr;
Through him the smoky towns arise, with all their din and stir.
Green fields grow white in the morning light, with the snow of the Southern clime;
Through him the loaded barges go, drawn on their many trips;
Through him the beryl seas are flecked with stout and gallant ships;
Through him a myriad shuttles click, and countless spindles whirr;
Through him the smoky towns arise, with all their din and stir.
527
A rain of woe would pour around were Cotton cold and dead;
Then were not countless millions clad, then were not millions fed.
A blight upon his flowery fields, the world with fear would pale;
From quivering lips in crowded streets break famine's feeble wail;
But while he flourishes in pride, then woe and want are banned,
Swarth labor laughs and sings at toil, and plenty fills the land.
Then were not countless millions clad, then were not millions fed.
A blight upon his flowery fields, the world with fear would pale;
From quivering lips in crowded streets break famine's feeble wail;
But while he flourishes in pride, then woe and want are banned,
Swarth labor laughs and sings at toil, and plenty fills the land.
King Coal dwells ever underground, surrounded by his gnomes,
Who carve him chambers in the earth, and scoop out rocky domes.
Ever they work by torch-light there—the clear sun never shines
To glad the heart of the pygmies toiling, moiling in the mines;
But still they burrow like patient moles, they work and gayly sing,
Their voices ringing through the vaults in praise of their grimy king.
Who carve him chambers in the earth, and scoop out rocky domes.
Ever they work by torch-light there—the clear sun never shines
To glad the heart of the pygmies toiling, moiling in the mines;
But still they burrow like patient moles, they work and gayly sing,
Their voices ringing through the vaults in praise of their grimy king.
Black are the diamonds of his crown, and black his robes also,
Yet though Cotton and Gold may reign above, this Coal is king below—
Down in the bowels of England, where first his rule began
The torrid Chiriqui region, the strange land of Japan,
Ohio's river-riven plains, Virginia's ridges tall,
And the hills of Pennsylvania, these own him one and all.
Yet though Cotton and Gold may reign above, this Coal is king below—
Down in the bowels of England, where first his rule began
The torrid Chiriqui region, the strange land of Japan,
Ohio's river-riven plains, Virginia's ridges tall,
And the hills of Pennsylvania, these own him one and all.
528
Yet his a sway on upper earth—a sway it may not shun—
He spreads o'er crowded cities a murky cloud and dun;
His is the roar of furnaces, the rattling noise of mills,
The scream of the river steamer, flung back from banks and hills;
His are the one-eyed Kuklopes that speed on the iron rails,
Through echoing clefts in riven hills, and down the pleasant vales.
He spreads o'er crowded cities a murky cloud and dun;
His is the roar of furnaces, the rattling noise of mills,
The scream of the river steamer, flung back from banks and hills;
His are the one-eyed Kuklopes that speed on the iron rails,
Through echoing clefts in riven hills, and down the pleasant vales.
He comes from his home in the rock profound, to wake the busy din.
With the voice of his steam-serf, roaring like the sound of a culverin;
He goes to the broad green prairies, to the desert plains of sand,
And one is peopled with thousands, and the other is fertile land.
Where yesterday the wild-deer roved, and the hunter's rifle rang,
The sunburst fierce of the forges glows, and the ponderous hammers clang.
With the voice of his steam-serf, roaring like the sound of a culverin;
He goes to the broad green prairies, to the desert plains of sand,
And one is peopled with thousands, and the other is fertile land.
Where yesterday the wild-deer roved, and the hunter's rifle rang,
The sunburst fierce of the forges glows, and the ponderous hammers clang.
Gods! what a sight, those forges bright, and what a steady roar—
The voice of the nor'west tempest on the lone and rocky shore!
The stithy of Hephaistos grim, the halting son of Zeus,
Glowed not so fierce what time he forged the shield of Achilleus;
And never the giants sweaty and huge, in Ætna's fiery hall,
More terrible seemed than these appear, as the hammers rise and fall.
The voice of the nor'west tempest on the lone and rocky shore!
The stithy of Hephaistos grim, the halting son of Zeus,
Glowed not so fierce what time he forged the shield of Achilleus;
And never the giants sweaty and huge, in Ætna's fiery hall,
More terrible seemed than these appear, as the hammers rise and fall.
King Coal beheld the swarming towns, in the silent hours of night,
A refuge for assassins in the dim and faint lamplight;
Then pity filled his royal heart; the blood from out his veins,
And the spirit within him he gave to light the darksome streets and lanes.
The craven murderer at the glare shrank baffled to his den,
And Coal another blessing gave to glad the souls of men.
A refuge for assassins in the dim and faint lamplight;
529
And the spirit within him he gave to light the darksome streets and lanes.
The craven murderer at the glare shrank baffled to his den,
And Coal another blessing gave to glad the souls of men.
King Gold was once of low estate; he rose from out the earth;
A base-born carle he was at first—he knew not whence his birth.
Man found him lying in the sands, a friendless outcast there,
And took the yellow foundling home, and gave him treatment fair.
So base of mind, so vile of heart, and so forgetful he.
That o'er his friend he rules as though he were of high degree.
A base-born carle he was at first—he knew not whence his birth.
Man found him lying in the sands, a friendless outcast there,
And took the yellow foundling home, and gave him treatment fair.
So base of mind, so vile of heart, and so forgetful he.
That o'er his friend he rules as though he were of high degree.
King Gold was once of low estate, but now in palaces,
Whereof he has in every land, he dwells in royal ease—
Palaces rare and splendid, he owns them everywhere;
Their walls of lapis-lazuli, and studded with rubies rare,
Propped with pillars of Parian marble, lined with malachite,
And hung with silken curtains, that temper the noonday light.
Whereof he has in every land, he dwells in royal ease—
Palaces rare and splendid, he owns them everywhere;
Their walls of lapis-lazuli, and studded with rubies rare,
Propped with pillars of Parian marble, lined with malachite,
And hung with silken curtains, that temper the noonday light.
He feeds upon the choicest meats—upon his board must be
The patés brought from Strasburg, and turtle from the sea;
And in his cups of amethyst that glitter there and glow,
The wines of oldest vintages in amber currents flow,
Madeira, Xeres, Chambertin, Champagne, and Montrachet,
Johannisberg, Château Lafitte, Catawba, and Tokai.
The patés brought from Strasburg, and turtle from the sea;
And in his cups of amethyst that glitter there and glow,
The wines of oldest vintages in amber currents flow,
Madeira, Xeres, Chambertin, Champagne, and Montrachet,
Johannisberg, Château Lafitte, Catawba, and Tokai.
King Gold one time was meanly clad in dusky-yellow vest,
But now in purple velvet robes and silken hose is drest;
On satin cushions takes repose, with vases in the room,
To hold rare flowers that fill the air with delicate scent's perfume;
Around him are his ready knaves, to serve, or to defend;
Around him are his parasites in homage low to bend.
But now in purple velvet robes and silken hose is drest;
On satin cushions takes repose, with vases in the room,
To hold rare flowers that fill the air with delicate scent's perfume;
530
Around him are his parasites in homage low to bend.
When human kings array their hosts, he says, “'Tis not my will!”
He calms the tempest ere it bursts, and whispers, “Peace! be still!”
War hushes at his steady glance, and at his potent word,
To a ploughshare turns the keen-edged lance, a sickle is the sword.
The battle comes not now from kings; for leave to fight they call
On the cabinets of the Juden-Strasse, Lombard Street, and Wall.
He calms the tempest ere it bursts, and whispers, “Peace! be still!”
War hushes at his steady glance, and at his potent word,
To a ploughshare turns the keen-edged lance, a sickle is the sword.
The battle comes not now from kings; for leave to fight they call
On the cabinets of the Juden-Strasse, Lombard Street, and Wall.
There never was in Pagan lands idolatry profound
As that which now in Christendom bows millions to the ground.
King Gold goes forth like Juggernaut, the earth beneath him reels;
Down fall the blinded worshippers before his chariot wheels;
The zealot slaves are blissful all, crushed, writhing on the sod—
The dogs made friends with Cotton and Coal, but worshipped Gold as God.
As that which now in Christendom bows millions to the ground.
King Gold goes forth like Juggernaut, the earth beneath him reels;
Down fall the blinded worshippers before his chariot wheels;
The zealot slaves are blissful all, crushed, writhing on the sod—
The dogs made friends with Cotton and Coal, but worshipped Gold as God.
These are the kings whose thrones we serve, and much we praise them when
They feed the hopes, and shape the course, and aid the will of men.
Without the three but poor we be, the world were sad and drear,
And man a savage churl indeed, if neither king were here.
So laud to Gold, who bears our purse, to Coal, whose toil is sore,
And greater laud to Cotton, who feeds ten million men or more.
They feed the hopes, and shape the course, and aid the will of men.
Without the three but poor we be, the world were sad and drear,
And man a savage churl indeed, if neither king were here.
So laud to Gold, who bears our purse, to Coal, whose toil is sore,
And greater laud to Cotton, who feeds ten million men or more.
531
King Coal a mighty monarch is, but nathless is controlled
To do the work of Cotton, and swell the pride of Gold;
King Gold has empire widest far, yet, though it chafe his soul,
He tribute pays to Cotton, and a heavy tax to Coal;
But Cotton he is king of kings, and Coal, the black and grim,
And Gold, the yellow and smiling, are vassals both to him.
To do the work of Cotton, and swell the pride of Gold;
King Gold has empire widest far, yet, though it chafe his soul,
He tribute pays to Cotton, and a heavy tax to Coal;
But Cotton he is king of kings, and Coal, the black and grim,
And Gold, the yellow and smiling, are vassals both to him.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |