The Aristocrat

They sundered usage like a wedge;
They swept the ancients from their stools;
By piracy, by sacrilege,
By war, across the necks of fools
A royal road, the strong men strode.
But other times have other tools.

The warlord and the churchlord stir
The pulses of the world no more;
The trader and the usurer
Have passed the lion-guarded door;
The praise, the prayer, the incensed air
Ascend to us from every share.

A Money-lord, unheralded,
I issue from a vulgar strain
Of churls, who spiced their daily bread
With hungry toil in sun and rain,
A secret dower of patience power
And courage in my blood and brain.

Though Corner, Trust and Company
Are subtler than the old-time tools,
The Sword, the Rack, the Gallowstree,
I traverse none of Nature's rules;
I lay my yoke on feeble folk,
And march across the necks of fools.

My friends and foes adventured much;
But elbowing iron pots the delf
Go down in shards; or some rude touch
Of fact installs upon the shelf
Souls slimly cast: for me, I last,
I wiser, braver, more myself.