Peace

YES, Peace is beautiful; and I do yearn
For her to clasp the World's poor tortured heart,
As sweet spring warmth doth brood o'er coming flowers.

But peace with these Leviathans of blood —
Who pirate crimson seas, devouring men?

Give them the hand of brotherhood — whose fangs
Are in our hearts with the grim bloodhound's grip?

Wouldst see Peace, idiot-like, with smirk and smile,
A-planting flowers to coronal Truth's grave?

Peace, merry-making round the funeral pyre,
Where Freedom, fiery-curtained, weds with death?

Peace, mirroring her form by pools of blood, —
Crowning the Croat in Vienna's fosse,
With all sweet influences of thankful eyes,
For murder of the glorious Biirschenschaft?

Peace with Oppression, which doth tear dear friends
And brothers from our side to-day, and comes
To eat OUK hearts and drink OUR blood to-morrow!

Out on't! it is the Tyrant's cunning cant,
The robe of sheen flung o'er its deadly daggers,
Which start to life, whene'er it hugs to death.

I answer, War! — war with the cause of war, —
War with our misery, want, and wretchedness, —
War with curst Gold, which is an endless war
On Love, on God, and our Humanity!

Brothers, I bid ye forth to glorious war!
Patch fig-leaves o'er the naked truth no more.
The stream of Time runs red with our best blood!
Time's seed-field we have sown with fratricide,
And dragon's teeth have sprung, ay, in our hearts.
O! we have fought and bled on land and sea,
Heapt glory's car with myriads of the brave,
Spilt blood by oceans — treasures by the million,
At every Tyrant's beck. Had we but shed
Such warm and eloquent blood for Freedom's faith,
War's star in heaven had lost its name ere now.
" Brothers!" I cried, — well, Brothers, brother slaves!
O! but to give ye slaves THEIR valiant heart,
Whose dumb, dead dust is worth your living souls —
Dear God! 'twere sweet to kiss the scaffold-block!
I'd proudly leap death's darkness, to let shine
The Future's promise thro' your sorrow's tears!
Sorrow? ah, no! ye feel not sense so holy:
The worm of misery riots in your hearts —
Ye hear your younglings in the drear midnight
Make moan for bread when ye have none to give! —
Ye drain your life, warm, for the vulture's drink!
The groaning land is choked with living death.
O! ye are mated to the things of scorn.
And I have heard your miserable madness
Belcht forth in drunken pseans to your tyrants,
Pledging your murderers to the hell they've made!
Ah, Christ! was it for this, thou sudden sun,
Didst light these centuries with thy dying smile? — -
Was it for this, so many and so many
Have hackt their spirit swords against our fetters
And killing cords, that bleed our hearts to death —
Wept griefs might turn the soul grey in an hour —
Broke their great hearts for love, and, in despair,
Dasht their immortal crowns to earth, and died?

Was it for this the countless Host of Martyrs,
Becrown'd and robed in fiery martyrdom,
Beat out a golden-aged Future from
The angel-metal of their noble lives —
Clomb the red scaffold — strained their weary eyes,
Across the mists of ages, for one glimpse
Of midnight burning into that bright Dawn
Now bursting golden, up the skies of time?

When will ye put your human glory on?

How long will ye lie darkling desolate,
With barren brain, blind life, and fallow heart?

The hollow yearning grave will kindly close,
And flowers spring where the mould lay freshly dark!

The leaves will burst from out the naked'st boughs,
Fire-ripen'd into glorious greenery,
Waste moor and fen will kindle into spring:

How long will ye lie darkling desolate?

Lord God Almighty! what a spring of freedom
Awaits to burst the winter of our world!

O! if aught moving thrills a brother's love,
Which pleads for utterance in blinding tears,
Then let these words burn living in your souls,
Snatch Fear's cold hand from off your palsied hearts,
And send the intrepid shudder through your veins.

Helots of Albion! Penury's nurslings! rise,
And swear, in God's name, and in Heaven's or Hell's,
Ye will bear witness at the birth of Freedom!

Arise, and front the blessed light of Heaven,
With tyrant-quailing manhood in your looks!

Arise, go forth to glorious war for right,
And justice, and mankind's high destiny!

Arise, 'tis Freedom's bleeding fight, strike home
Wherever tyrants lift the gorgon-head!

There is a chasm in the coming years,
A-gape for strife's Niagara of blood —
Or to be bridged by brave hearts linkt in love.

The world is stirring with its mighty purpose:

No more be laggards in the march of men.

The Vulture Despotism spreads wide its wings
Right royally, to give ye broader mark!

And the hag Evil sickens unto death,
With her sore travail o'er the birth of Good.

And yet shall War's red-lettered creed die out;

Where blood is running, shall the wild-flowers blow;

Where men are groaning, shall their children sing;

And Peace and Love re-Genesis the world.