On the approaching close of The Great Exhibition And other poems. By The Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley |
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LINES WRITTEN ON THE PASSING OF THE SUGAR-BILL, 1846. |
 | On the approaching close of The Great Exhibition |  |
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LINES WRITTEN ON THE PASSING OF THE SUGAR-BILL, 1846.
1
Earth!—Earth!—and canst thou longer bearThe groan of slavery's long despair,
The shadows of its gloom?
Canst thou endure th' abhorrent wrong,
If thou art armed, and brave, and strong,
To stamp the Horror's doom?
2
Know, while in yoke of suffering bound,One crushed and tortured wretch is found,
On thy brow is the brand!
Accurs'd shall states and races be
That boast their own high liberty,
And bind their brother's hand.
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3
While groaning o'er his world-wide graveRemains one scourged and outraged slave,
Ne'er boast your Force or Fame!
His wrongs are venom in your veins,
His degradations are your stains,
His martyrdom—your shame.
4
His every anguish is your crime!Beware! or this shall through all time,
Attest your base unworth!
His scars are your enormous guilt,
Your sin, each heart-drop he hath spilt,
Dishonour to you, Earth!
5
A generation all of Cains,Red—red—with deadliest murder-stains,
This generation seems,
If they, while knowing th' awful truth,
Steeled 'gainst remorse, and deaf to ruth,
Staunch not the out-welling streams.
6
Perish the Monster-Plague that grindsAll Nations through their thoughts and minds,
While they That Wrong allow!
While they submit, and coward-like bend,
Their sanction to such deeds to lend,—
That sanction dare avow.
7
One land enslaved should frown like Night,—One fettered people cast a blight,
O'er twice ten thousand free:
Vainly ye boast,—while these things last,—
Your pride of Present and of Past,—
Freedom from Sea to Sea.
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8
Freedom?—not while a single slave,Doomed in unsuccoured pangs to rave,
Contaminates our sphere!
Lo! million millions free, should be,
Barred from Heaven-bless'd true liberty,
While One mourns, shackled here!
9
Freedom!—forswear the sacred sound!—It is not freedom if you 're bound
To such degrading needs;—
If you 're thus forced to sit and mark
The triumph of this outrage dark,
While Heaven's scarred image bleeds.
10
Heaven's desecrated temple, thatWhich for itself it deigned create,
Embruted, blurred, and banned!
Poor Slaves! They even might pity those
Who dare not grandly interpose
With Power's avenging hand.
11
Shame on Ye!—sordid or supine,Who see unmoved your fellows pine,
Whate'er your climes or creeds;
Fetters, and goads, and gyves may gall,
But more even stings and stains the thrall,
Of black dishonouring deeds.
12
Freedom?—Are they not Slaves of Soul,Who lack the courage to control
That evil they condemn?
Whose wants, whose fears, must make them still
Thus aid the abhorred, infernal Ill,
That yet bounds back on them.
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13
Freedom! I tell ye, No!—'tis vain,While round your soul of souls that chain
Is wreathed!—the deadliest—worst,—
Which binds ye to such grovelling mood,
Your loftiest duties all withstood,—
Earth!—'tis a thing accursed!
14
Then let mankind in might arise,(Blessed by yon just, approving skies,)
To do the Deed of Worth!
Be freedom to the Bound One given,
Then frown no more, thou Outraged Heaven!
Thou desecrated Earth!
15
Foul Upas tree of Slavery's curse,Dark Upas of the Universe!
Down with it!—Root and branch!
Unite!—Ye Nations! each and all:
Haste! bid the o'ershadowing Gloom to fall
Magnanimously staunch!
16
Hushed be those groans that seemed to scarePeace from the universal air,—
Hushed—or to hymn-notes changed;
'T will be a Golden Age for thee,—
World!—when fierce War and Slavery
Are Both from Thee estranged.
17
Hear, all ye Nations, hear and heed,War shall no longer bid ye bleed,
Perchance when Justice guides;—
While ye the Helpless doom to woe,
Or suffer ev'n the coward blow,
Heaven chastens thus and chides.
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18
But heed that hand, and hear that voiceWhich points your course, which prompts your choice;
Break the slave's bonds—Be just!—
Dash down the blood-brimmed cup;—Awake!
Your bonds of Thought and Spirit break;
Dash them, too, in the dust.
19
Attend, ye Lands! while yet 'tis time,Abjure the monstrous, dastard crime,
Ere worse woes spring to birth,
Crush ye that Worm which gnaws the World,—
Like that the old Northmen say lies curled
Round the huge roots of Earth!
20
Chief, Thou! my Country! heed and hear!Lest Vengeance, threatening darkly near,
Should whelm thee in its flood;—
Should bid thy Sun go down in ire,—
Should turn thy Seas to Seas of Fire,—
Thy Heavens—to Heavens of blood.
| On the approaching close of The Great Exhibition | |