University of Virginia Library

THE UNWRITTEN WORD.

Hast thou not spoken, God,
When wrongs unchain the slave;
And slaves make every sod
A slave's or tyrant's grave?

165

Dost Thou not speak to all,
When names, made bright by thee,
Blaze comet-like, and fall
From heaven to obloquy?
How like a trumpet's blast,
By thee in whirlwind blown,
Thy stern Napoleon past
Through shrieks of states o'erthrown!
What crush'd him, disarray'd,
When perish'd man and steed?
Thy outraged laws of trade!
They crush'd him, like a weed!
A voice of many sighs,
Woe's still small voice of doom,
Whisper'd!—and seas and skies
Sang, “Lo, the Island-Tomb!”
For hosts, of many tongues,
That voice array'd in might;
A universe of wrongs
Arm'd wrongers for the right.
But cursed by battles won,
What learn'd they, triumph-taught?
That victory, self-undone,
Hath lost the fight unfought.

166

Napoleon could not shake
What pigmies have o'erthrown!
O outraged England, wake!
O Nature, claim thy own!
When shall we hear again
Thy still small whisper, God?
O break the bondman's chain!
Uncurse the tax-plough'd sod!
If still thy name is love,
Be Labour's sons thy care!
And from thy earth remove
The vermin all can spare.
Deaf reptiles! they devour
The honey and the tree,
Root, branches, fruit, and flower;
But not our trust in Thee!