 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
215
EMANCIPATED.
Yea, be of better comfort, English heart!The day has dawn'd when our whole scheme of Wrong
After its toils and griefs and suffering long
Must end,—and all that train of ills depart:
Not now a weed, O labouring man thou art;
Thews are not cheap and common, worthless stock,
But scarcer rise in value; social ill
Works its own cure, and wealth no more shall mock
The rights of labour, nor the freeman's will:
Strikes—let them fail! but Industry and Skill
Shall wrestle down the despots, till they crave
Help of all helpers; ay, and Time's old clock
Will soon strike Freedom for our British slave,
The long-hoped hour his handcuffs to unlock.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |