 | Queen Eleanor's Vengeance |  |
113
WHAT THEY SAID AT THE STRIKES.
Gaunt and grim was the
hungry crowd
From whose heart this chant rose wild and loud.
From whose heart this chant rose wild and loud.
Yes, men of trade, we have our rights,
We drudges,—we—the poor;
The right to serve,—the right to want,
To work, and to endure;
The fireless grate—the freezing bed—
The racking aches that seize
The bones and sinews of the poor,
Ay, we've our right to these.
We drudges,—we—the poor;
The right to serve,—the right to want,
To work, and to endure;
The fireless grate—the freezing bed—
The racking aches that seize
The bones and sinews of the poor,
Ay, we've our right to these.
Rights?—brutish lives of untaught vice,—
Minds stunted,—health unstrung,—
The sallow cheek,—the shrivell'd form,—
Thoughts that were never young;
The squalid court,—the garret bare,—
The hunger, never sure
The coming day shall bring its bread,—
Such rights have we—the poor.
Minds stunted,—health unstrung,—
The sallow cheek,—the shrivell'd form,—
Thoughts that were never young;
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The hunger, never sure
The coming day shall bring its bread,—
Such rights have we—the poor.
Fools!—fools!—to doubt your laws of
wealth,
To hold THAT truth's untrue
That hands us over, old and young,
Slaves, men of gold, to you!
Slaves?—slaves?—I lie;—to such as we,
The slave's work, true, you give,
But, need us not, and you deny
The right of slaves, to live.
To hold THAT truth's untrue
That hands us over, old and young,
Slaves, men of gold, to you!
Slaves?—slaves?—I lie;—to such as we,
The slave's work, true, you give,
But, need us not, and you deny
The right of slaves, to live.
Your Unions?—and had I forgot
Your christian love sublime,
That doles a diet out to want
'Twould blush to thrust on crime?
Said I, we workers have no rights?
Forgot I that we're born
To all your guardians' kindly cares,—
Your workhouse meals, and scorn?
Your christian love sublime,
That doles a diet out to want
'Twould blush to thrust on crime?
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Forgot I that we're born
To all your guardians' kindly cares,—
Your workhouse meals, and scorn?
Work?—work or none, your horse, your hound,
You care for, as of worth;
Men are the only things of life
You starve from off the earth;
What matter!—have your wise not found,
This world, God only made,
To grope for wealth—its only want,
Prosperity to trade?
You care for, as of worth;
Men are the only things of life
You starve from off the earth;
What matter!—have your wise not found,
This world, God only made,
To grope for wealth—its only want,
Prosperity to trade?
Your laws?—what are your laws to us?
We have not wealth or birth;
Dear justice—game laws—ignorance—want—
These preach to us their worth;
Your army where no poor men rise,—
Your rich men's ruling—ay,
We know it by the tax on tax
Our poverty must pay.
We have not wealth or birth;
Dear justice—game laws—ignorance—want—
These preach to us their worth;
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Your rich men's ruling—ay,
We know it by the tax on tax
Our poverty must pay.
Ay, doubtless, we but burden earth!
For what do such as I,
But all your luxuries—all your wants,
And wildest whims, supply?
What gain you from our pauper days,
But all you ever need?
All, from the weak and ragged lives
Whose wants you never heed.
For what do such as I,
But all your luxuries—all your wants,
And wildest whims, supply?
What gain you from our pauper days,
But all you ever need?
All, from the weak and ragged lives
Whose wants you never heed.
What?—labour's free?—leave things
alone—
'Tis best?—and say you so?—
Alas, this freedom so you vaunt,
What 'tis too well we know;—
We glut your markets; bid us hire
On which life scarce can live,
Our birthright, want, compels us down
To drudge for what you give.
'Tis best?—and say you so?—
Alas, this freedom so you vaunt,
What 'tis too well we know;—
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On which life scarce can live,
Our birthright, want, compels us down
To drudge for what you give.
Machinery—blessing that shall be,
It shall not have our curse,
Though now it heap but wealth on few
And make our doom but worse;
Hope sees a day when, from its good,
Its present ills shall fall—
When, strong to free the strength of man,
'Twill bless and comfort all.
It shall not have our curse,
Though now it heap but wealth on few
And make our doom but worse;
Hope sees a day when, from its good,
Its present ills shall fall—
When, strong to free the strength of man,
'Twill bless and comfort all.
Men, shall we bless your social state
That shame but to us metes,—
That gives our infants to your jails—
Our daughters to your streets?—
Your hulks we have;—where are your schools?
Hear you not wisdom preach,
They sow the whirlwind, who prefer
To smite instead of teach?
That shame but to us metes,—
That gives our infants to your jails—
Our daughters to your streets?—
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Hear you not wisdom preach,
They sow the whirlwind, who prefer
To smite instead of teach?
No—all man's wants I fail to find
In this your one word—wealth;
Wealth, pampering few, gives it to all,
Mind—comfort-leisure—health?
The social state that gives not these,
As self-condemn'd, I hold;
The common rights of men, with me,
Outbalance all your gold.
In this your one word—wealth;
Wealth, pampering few, gives it to all,
Mind—comfort-leisure—health?
The social state that gives not these,
As self-condemn'd, I hold;
The common rights of men, with me,
Outbalance all your gold.
Front me not with your priestly cant;
God gives enough for all;
Who say, he wills that one should want,
Them, foul blasphemers, call.
'Twere well your comforts and our needs
To rivet with His nod,
But think not, we, our man-made ills,
Will father upon God.
God gives enough for all;
Who say, he wills that one should want,
Them, foul blasphemers, call.
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To rivet with His nod,
But think not, we, our man-made ills,
Will father upon God.
Why poverty must always be,
You rich may plainly see,
But, trust me, that the matter, Sirs,
Is not so plain to me;
Change lots;—try want;—one little week
Such reasons new shall show
That, ere 'tis gone, I've trust, your faith
Shall strange conversion know.
You rich may plainly see,
But, trust me, that the matter, Sirs,
Is not so plain to me;
Change lots;—try want;—one little week
Such reasons new shall show
That, ere 'tis gone, I've trust, your faith
Shall strange conversion know.
Thank God! we can dream of a time
When want shall cease from earth,
When, Heaven's good gifts enjoyed by all,
Not one shall curse his birth;
It comes—it comes;—despite your scoffs,
The black East hath its gleam;
The future shows God's love no lie,
His justice not a dream.
When want shall cease from earth,
When, Heaven's good gifts enjoyed by all,
Not one shall curse his birth;
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The black East hath its gleam;
The future shows God's love no lie,
His justice not a dream.
Utopian?—nay, spare not your jeers;
We hold them at their worth;
Wild dreams?—dreams, wild as ours, ere this,
Have walked, as facts, the earth;
How was the holy wisdom mocked
Our reverence bows before,—
The wild dreams, dream'd by love long since
On Galilee's blest shore!
We hold them at their worth;
Wild dreams?—dreams, wild as ours, ere this,
Have walked, as facts, the earth;
How was the holy wisdom mocked
Our reverence bows before,—
The wild dreams, dream'd by love long since
On Galilee's blest shore!
Lo, knowledge breedeth discontent
And strong resolve for right;
Justice is throned for rule, the hour
The millions know their might;
Sublime it comes—the reign of love—
The longing of all eyes;—
It nears—the future of our dreams,
An earth for ill to wise.
And strong resolve for right;
Justice is throned for rule, the hour
The millions know their might;
121
The longing of all eyes;—
It nears—the future of our dreams,
An earth for ill to wise.
149
TO A MOSS-ROSE IN CHEAPSIDE.
What you—you flush our City
air,
You, summer's boast and pride,
You, born to show all things most fair
Less fair by your sweet side!
What with our fev'rish thirst for gold
Have you, sweet thing, to do!
Where all things else are bought and sold,
Rose, will they barter you!
You, summer's boast and pride,
You, born to show all things most fair
Less fair by your sweet side!
What with our fev'rish thirst for gold
Have you, sweet thing, to do!
Where all things else are bought and sold,
Rose, will they barter you!
Why not! O welcome, welcomed, come,
Of hidden nature speak,
Of whom all else is here so dumb,
Our thought of her grows weak;
Show us, with more than this poor life
Of streets, we have to do!
Adieu to all the City's strife!
I'm far, sweet rose, with you.
Of hidden nature speak,
Of whom all else is here so dumb,
Our thought of her grows weak;
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Of streets, we have to do!
Adieu to all the City's strife!
I'm far, sweet rose, with you.
What pleasant thoughts you bring to-day;
What leafy country hours,
Haunts where the long day dies away
From grass-plots heap'd with flowers!
With fountain'd lawns, my eyes you bless;
Green walks I loiter through;
In peace and garden quietness,
I dwell, sweet rose, with you.
What leafy country hours,
Haunts where the long day dies away
From grass-plots heap'd with flowers!
With fountain'd lawns, my eyes you bless;
Green walks I loiter through;
In peace and garden quietness,
I dwell, sweet rose, with you.
Ah, now a cottage front you bring,
A porch cool shadows fill,
Up which sweet honeysuckles cling,
And wander at their will;
The vine is green, and you I see
The casements peeping through,
The glowing summer noon for me
Is flush'd, sweet rose, with you.
A porch cool shadows fill,
Up which sweet honeysuckles cling,
And wander at their will;
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The casements peeping through,
The glowing summer noon for me
Is flush'd, sweet rose, with you.
O quiet thoughts, stay with me! Stay,
You leafy summer hours!
Ah me! but life must deal to-day
With other things than flowers!
Come, City fears! come, work and care!
Adieu, sweet dreams, adieu!
Of thoughts, full poor must be the share
I give, sweet rose, to you.
You leafy summer hours!
Ah me! but life must deal to-day
With other things than flowers!
Come, City fears! come, work and care!
Adieu, sweet dreams, adieu!
Of thoughts, full poor must be the share
I give, sweet rose, to you.
O drooping bud! O weary change,
This grey and stony street
For all that to our eyes is strange,
All yours were wont to meet!
Yet I too, nature's child, I pine
Her far-off face to view;
As weary are these thoughts of mine
As those that wither you!
This grey and stony street
For all that to our eyes is strange,
All yours were wont to meet!
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Her far-off face to view;
As weary are these thoughts of mine
As those that wither you!
153
ON A PORTRAIT.
Were the mighty Merlin's wandWaved within my wizard hand,
And, in its great power, I said,
“Face as fair as e'er hath been,
“Sweetest eyes that earth hath seen,
“Soft with life, or calmly dead,
“Appear!”
Methinks, across the magic glass,
The while I gazed with wondering fear,
This pictured form would, queen-like, pass,
And voices from the charmèd air,
Charmèd tongues mine ears would hear,
Whispering, “Mortal, ask'st thou where
“All of fairness is, most fair?
'Tis here!”
156
FROM TOWN.
Away, my thoughts, away!
We'll from the town to-day;
Yes, we the quiet hours will know,
That tranquil nature can bestow,
Where green hills rise, and rivers flow,
And landscapes stretch away
To circling skies that, all below,
Round in with airy grey.
Away, my thoughts, away!
We'll from the town to-day.
We'll from the town to-day;
Yes, we the quiet hours will know,
That tranquil nature can bestow,
Where green hills rise, and rivers flow,
And landscapes stretch away
To circling skies that, all below,
Round in with airy grey.
Away, my thoughts, away!
We'll from the town to-day.
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O joy, to be away
From the hot town to-day!
To feel the grass beneath my feet,
To feel the skies my blest eyes meet,
Lord! but it makes my heart to beat
To feel how far away
Are care and toil—the loud full street,
And the dim City day!
O joy! to be away
From the hot town to-day!
From the hot town to-day!
To feel the grass beneath my feet,
To feel the skies my blest eyes meet,
Lord! but it makes my heart to beat
To feel how far away
Are care and toil—the loud full street,
And the dim City day!
O joy! to be away
From the hot town to-day!
O joy! I'm far away
From the dull town to-day!
Now, stretch'd at length, I thoughtless rest,
My careless head thrown back, and press'd
Upon that pillow it loves best,
The green sweet meadow grass;
While, with the sultry quiet bless'd,
I watch the slow clouds pass.
O joy! I'm far away
From the dull town to-day!
From the dull town to-day!
Now, stretch'd at length, I thoughtless rest,
My careless head thrown back, and press'd
Upon that pillow it loves best,
The green sweet meadow grass;
While, with the sultry quiet bless'd,
I watch the slow clouds pass.
O joy! I'm far away
From the dull town to-day!
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O bliss! I'm far away
From London's roar to-day!
Beneath the worn, wild cliffs, I please
My eyes with sight of mighty seas
Swept shorewards by the whistling breeze,
And feel the salt sea spray
Dash'd on my face, and breathe in ease,
While the gusts 'gainst me play.
O bliss! I'm far away
From London's roar to-day!
From London's roar to-day!
Beneath the worn, wild cliffs, I please
My eyes with sight of mighty seas
Swept shorewards by the whistling breeze,
And feel the salt sea spray
Dash'd on my face, and breathe in ease,
While the gusts 'gainst me play.
O bliss! I'm far away
From London's roar to-day!
O bliss! I'm far away
From the vext town to-day!
Now, on some mighty mountain's side,
I see the mists of morning slide
From the wide landscape, still more wide
Stretching, each step I go,
Far lakes, and vales, and seas, descried,
In sunshine bathed below.
O bliss! I'm far away
From the vext town to-day.
From the vext town to-day!
Now, on some mighty mountain's side,
I see the mists of morning slide
From the wide landscape, still more wide
Stretching, each step I go,
Far lakes, and vales, and seas, descried,
In sunshine bathed below.
O bliss! I'm far away
From the vext town to-day.
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O bliss! I'm far away
From toil and care to-day!
Now, on some grassy meadow-stream,
I watch the play of shade and gleam,
And see the placid angler dream
The quiet hours away,
While all things men most strive for, seem
Not worth a thought to-day.
So bear me far away,
Blest fancy, many a day!
From toil and care to-day!
Now, on some grassy meadow-stream,
I watch the play of shade and gleam,
And see the placid angler dream
The quiet hours away,
While all things men most strive for, seem
Not worth a thought to-day.
So bear me far away,
Blest fancy, many a day!
222
TO BERANGER.
ON THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL.
Sing, Beranger!—another song!
And for awhile forget
The memories of thy joyous youth,
And even thy Lisette;
Again the conquering tricolor
To Europe's winds is flung;
Again Marengo's eagles soar,
And need their fierce flight sung.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
And for awhile forget
The memories of thy joyous youth,
And even thy Lisette;
Again the conquering tricolor
To Europe's winds is flung;
Again Marengo's eagles soar,
And need their fierce flight sung.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
223
Hark! Paris hears the selfsame shout
So oft she heard of old;
Hark! victory tells again the tale
So oft by thee she told,
The tale that tells how triumph still
On France's eagles sits,
And mates Sebastopol's dread fame
With that of Austerlitz.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
So oft she heard of old;
Hark! victory tells again the tale
So oft by thee she told,
The tale that tells how triumph still
On France's eagles sits,
And mates Sebastopol's dread fame
With that of Austerlitz.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
Too long the northern despot's heel
Has trampled Europe down;
Too long has freedom, trembling, seem'd
To quail before his frown;
At last the West dares use its strength;
At last its hosts go forth;
Let Europe's despots hear how well
We smote their vaunted North.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
Has trampled Europe down;
Too long has freedom, trembling, seem'd
To quail before his frown;
At last the West dares use its strength;
At last its hosts go forth;
Let Europe's despots hear how well
We smote their vaunted North.
224
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
For forty years has Europe slept
A base inglorious sleep;
And, if for Poland's fate she wept,
She only dared to weep.
If Hungary fell, we did but moan—
But hope for both remains;
We hunt the Tartar back; at last
We help to loose their chains.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
A base inglorious sleep;
And, if for Poland's fate she wept,
She only dared to weep.
If Hungary fell, we did but moan—
But hope for both remains;
We hunt the Tartar back; at last
We help to loose their chains.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
The Austrian fawns upon the Czar;
Ask if an Ulm he needs;
Tell Prussia's dotard, his false faith
Another Jena breeds;
Bid all the hundred pigmy things
That wear a German crown,
Beware at once, or, with the Czar,
Their tiny thrones go down.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
Ask if an Ulm he needs;
Tell Prussia's dotard, his false faith
Another Jena breeds;
225
That wear a German crown,
Beware at once, or, with the Czar,
Their tiny thrones go down.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
Twice did the barbarous Cossacks' steeds
Bathe in the trampled Seine;
Leagued Europe help'd them on the way,
They'll never come again.
Those days are past; with Europe leagued,
Napoleon's eagles wave:
The Europe that of old they tore,
To-day they fly to save.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
Bathe in the trampled Seine;
Leagued Europe help'd them on the way,
They'll never come again.
Those days are past; with Europe leagued,
Napoleon's eagles wave:
The Europe that of old they tore,
To-day they fly to save.
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
226
Sing! Eylau's strife and Wagram's fame
You gave to every tongue;
Let newer glories, great as theirs,
To-day by you be sung;
Let Inkermann's and Alma's deeds
In songs immortal live!
And dread Sebastopol's fierce fame
To deathless glory give!
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
You gave to every tongue;
Let newer glories, great as theirs,
To-day by you be sung;
Let Inkermann's and Alma's deeds
In songs immortal live!
And dread Sebastopol's fierce fame
To deathless glory give!
Then, Beranger, another song;
For who can sing so well
The mighty deeds that glory needs
Thy matchless songs to tell?
| Queen Eleanor's Vengeance | |