To Kossuth, President of Hungary

Man is not what God made him : God ordain'd
That he should walk upright and bend the brow
To Him alone ; God gave to Man our earth
Created by His breath few days before.
Kossuth ! what demons burst into the midst
Of this his Eden, this his Paradise,
These lofty trees that bore their fruit unpruned
Nor crawl'd upon by reptiles from below.
Look round thee, and what seest thou ? men in form,
Gaming with minor men as they were dice
Or cards, and sweeping them from off the board.
What millions have succumb'd, and stil succumb,
To light these gamblers at their deadly game !
How many lands, once till'd, lie desolate
To widen their wild hunting-ground, and glut
With human venison the royal feast !
Exchanges are now made of flocks and herds
Biped : see Nice and Venice led in chains ;
See Poland, flay'd, dismembered, parcel'd out
Among the bloodhounds ; see thy Hungary
Offer'd a note promissory instead
Of the seal'd parchment of her titledeeds.
The arctic icebergs make more nigh approach
Year after year to sunnier climes and threaten
To bar all intercourse of free with free :
In this condition is the world of Mind.