« PoprzedniaDalej »
For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was
His who had given me life -O father! O God! was it well?
Mangled, and flatten'd, and crush'd, and dinted into
There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he
Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a great
speculation had fail'd,
And ever he mutter'd and madden'd, and ever
wann'd with despair,
And out he walk'd when the wind like a broken
And the flying gold of the ruin'd woodlands drove
thro' the air.
I remember the time, for the roots of my hair were
By a shuffled step, by a dead weight trail'd, by a
And my pulses closed their gates with a shock on my heart as I heard
The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the
Villany somewhere! whose? One says, we are
Not he his honest fame should at least by me be
But that old man, now lord of the broad estate and
Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us
flaccid and drain'd.
Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse,
Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is not its
And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or
Than the heart of the citizen. hissing in war on his
own hearthstone ?
But these are the days of advance, the works of the
men of mind,
When who but a fool would have faith in a
tradesman's ware or his word?
Is it peace or war? Civil war, as I think, and that
of a kind
The viler, as underhand, not openly bearing the
Sooner or later I too may passively take the
Of the golden age-why not? I have neither hope
May make my heart as a millstone, set my face as
Cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are
ashes and dust.
Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the days
When the poor are hovell'd and hustled together,
each sex, like swine,
When only the ledger lives, and when only not all
Peace in her vineyard — yes!
but a company
forges the wine.
And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's
Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the
While chalk and alum and plaster are sold to
the poor for bread,
And the spirit of murder works in the very means
And Sleep must lie down arm'd, for the villanous
Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless
While another is cheating the sick of a few last
gasps, as he sits
To pestle a poison'd poison behind his crimson