The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott :: :: University of Virginia Library

Forests!—thou river'd landscape wide!—
Beneath storm-threatening skies,
I stand on war-mark'd Winco's side,
And see, with gladdened eyes,
Another triumph for mankind—
Another victory of mind
O'er man's worst enemies.

They come! the shrieking steam ascends
Slow moves the banner'd train;
They rush! the towering vapour bends—
The kindled wave again
Screams over thousands, thronging all
To witness now the funeral
Of law-created pain.

Behold it—Osgathorpe, behold!
Look down, and cry “All hail!”
Skies! brighten into blue and gold,
O'er all the living vale!

147

Wan, lingering foxglove! you, ye trees!
Thou wood of Tinsley! tell the breeze
That hell's dark cheek turns pale;

For Mind shall conquer time and space;
Bid East and West shake hands!
Bring, over Ocean, face to face,
Earth's ocean-sever'd strands;
And, on his path of iron, bear
Words that shall wither, in despair,
The tyrants of all lands.

Eternal River!—roaring still,
As roar'd thy foamy wave
When first each wild-rose-skirted rill
Heard moorland echoes rave;—
Thou seest, amid thy meadows green,
The goodliest sight that earth hath seen
Since man made fire his slave.

Fire-kindling Man! how weak wast thou
Ere thou hadst conquer'd fire!
How like a worm, on Canklow's brow,
Thou shrank'st from winter's ire!
Or heard'st the torrent-gathering night
Awake the wolf, with thee to fight,
Where these broad shades aspire!

148

How dismal was thy airy hall,
Thy throne for hearthless kings!
But glorious was thy funeral pall;
And there are direr things
Than thy red-rule of forest law,
Thy last home in the raven's maw,
Thy hearse of living wings.

Yes he whom scorn and hunger ban,
Whom ease and law belie,
Who vainly asks his fellow man
For “leave to toil” and die,
Is sadder, weaker, than wast thou,
When naked here, on Winco's brow,
Thou didst the wolf defy.

In vain thou mak'st the air a slave
That works and will not tire;
And burn'st the flame-destroying wave,
And rid'st on harness'd fire;
In vain—if millions toil half-fed,
And Crompton's children, begging bread,
Wealth-hated, curse their sire.

Fire-kindling man! thy life-stream runs,
Even yet, through sighs and groans:
Too long thy Watts and Stephensons,
With brains have fatten'd drones;

149

O Genius! all too long, too oft,
At thee the souls of clay have scoff'd,
And sold thy little ones!

Sold them to Misery's dungeon gloom;
To Rapine's menial blow;
To beggary's brawl-fill'd lodging-room,
Where Famine curses woe;
Then to the death-den's workhouse floor,
To which good Christians bring the poor,
By stages sure and slow.

But, lo! the train!—On! onward!—still
Loud shrieks the kindled wave;
And back fly hamlet, tree, and hill,
White steam, and banners brave;
And thoughts on vapoury wings are hurl'd,
To shake old thrones and change a world,
And dig Abaddon's grave.

Mountains, that were when graves were not!
Time-humbled Templestowe,
Thou tell'st of eagled Rome and Scott,
What dateless years shall know!
Lo! Mind prepares the final fall;
The many-nation'd funeral
Of law-created woe!

150

Eternal River!—roaring now,
As erst, in earlier years,
Ere grief began, with youthful brow,
To live an age of tears;
Thou hear'st, beneath this brightening sky,
A voice of Power that will not die
While man hath hopes and fears.

He, (conquering fire, and time, and space,)
Bids East and West shake hands;
Brings, over ocean, face to face,
Earth's ocean-sever'd strands;
And, on his iron road, will bear
Words that shall wither, in despair,
The tyrants of all lands.

The morning was clouded, but burst into sudden splendour over the rushing trains.

A beautiful eminence between Sheffield and Winco-bank, and, like the latter, overlooking a landscape of equal beauty.

The remains of a fortification at the Ickles, near Rotherham. See Scott's novel of “Ivanhoe.”