 | Poems and Lancashire Songs |  |
When first, from old Westminster's hoary pile,
The Art of Printing dawned on Britain's isle,
In some dim chapel of that sacred fane
The venerable Caxton ruled his train,—
Whose artful toil, foredoomed by mystic tie,
Flushed the young stream of England's liberty.
England! where noble hearts had wrestled long,
In dumb contention between right and wrong,
'Twas there in cloistered shade, he wove the spell
At whose behest the chain of silence fell;
And, nursing skill, with strange mutations fraught,
Gave freedom to the prisoned realms of thought!
The Art of Printing dawned on Britain's isle,
In some dim chapel of that sacred fane
The venerable Caxton ruled his train,—
Whose artful toil, foredoomed by mystic tie,
Flushed the young stream of England's liberty.
England! where noble hearts had wrestled long,
In dumb contention between right and wrong,
145
At whose behest the chain of silence fell;
And, nursing skill, with strange mutations fraught,
Gave freedom to the prisoned realms of thought!
| Poems and Lancashire Songs | |