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And their mothers look pale-like the white shore
Of Albion, free no more.


Her sons are as stones in the way— They are masses of senseless clayThey are trodden, and move not away; The abortion with which she travaileth

Is Liberty, smitten to death.


Then trample and dance, thou oppressor,

For thy victim is no redressor!

Thou art sole lord and possessor

Of her corpses and clods and abortions—they pave
Thy path to the grave.


Hear'st thou the festival din

Of Death and Destruction and Sin

And Wealth crying "Havoc!" within? 'Tis the bacchanal triumph which makes Truth dumb, Thine epithalamium.


Ay, marry thy ghastly Wife!

Let Fear and Disquiet and Strife

Spread thy couch in the chamber of Life! Marry Ruin, thou tyrant! and God be thy guide To the bed of the bride!



MEN of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?


Wherefore feed and clothe and save,
From the cradle to the grave,

Those ungrateful drones who would

Drain your sweat-nay, drink your blood?


Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?


Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm ?
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?


The seed ye sow another reaps;
The wealth ye find another keeps ;
The robes ye weave another wears;
The arms ye forge another bears.


Sow seed, but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth,-let no impostor heap;
Weave robes,-let not the idle wear;
Forge arms, in your defence to bear.


Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;

In halls ye deck another dwells.

Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see

The steel ye tempered glance on ye.


With plough and spade and hoe and loom,
Trace four grave, and build your tomb,
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre!


AN old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,—
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn, mud from a muddy spring,-
Rulers who neither see nor feel nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,

Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,

A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,—
An army which liberticide and prey

Make as a two-edged sword to all who wield,—
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay,-
Religion Christless, Godless, a book sealed,——
A Senate-time's worst statute unrepealed,-

Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst to illumine our tempestuous day.


OF 1819.


As from an ancestral oak

Two empty ravens sound their clarion,

Yell by yell and croak by croak,

When they scent the noonday smoke
Of fresh human carrion :-


As two gibbering night-birds flit
From their bowers of deadly hue
Through the night to frighten it,
When the moon is in a fit,

And the stars are none or few :


As a shark and dogfish wait

Under an Atlantic isle

For the negro-ship whose freight

Is the theme of their debate,

Wrinkling their red gills the while


Are ye, two vultures sick for battle,

Two scorpions under one wet stone,

Two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle,
Two crows perched on the murrained cattle,

Two vipers tangled into one.



God prosper, speed, and save, God raise from England's grave, Her murdered Queen!

Pave with swift victory

The steps of Liberty,

Whom Britons own to be

Immortal Queen!


See, she comes throned on high

On swift Eternity!

God save the Queen!

Millions on millions wait,

Firm, rapid, and elate,

On her majestic state

God save the Queen!


She is Thine own pure soul
Moulding the mighty whole.

God save the Queen!

She is Thine own deep love

Rained down from heaven above.

Wherever she rest or move,

God save our Queen!


'Wilder her enemies

In their own dark disguise!

God save our Queen!

All earthly things that dare

Her sacred name to bear,

Strip them, as kings are, bare;

God save the Queen!


Be her eternal throne

Built in our hearts alone

God save the Queen!

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There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread!
Be your wounds like eyes

To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead.

What other grief were it just to pay?

Your sons, your wives, your brethren, were they!
Who said they were slain on the battle-day?


Awaken, awaken, awaken!

The slave and the tyrant are twin-born foes.
Be the cold chains shaken

To the dust where your kindred repose, repose:
Their bones in the grave will start and move
When they hear the voices of those they love
Most loud in the holy combat above.


Wave, wave high the banner

When Freedom is riding to conquest by:
Though the slaves that fan her
Be Famine and Toil, giving sigh for sigh.
And ye who attend her imperial car,
Lift not your hands in the banded war,
But in her defence whose children ye are.

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