Eighteen Hundred and Forty-Eight

People of England, rouse ye from your dreaming!

Sinew your souls for Freedom's glorious leap:
Look to the Future, where. our day-spring's gleaming:

Lo! a pulse stirs that never more shall sleep
In the world's heart. Men's eyes flash wide with
wonder!

The Robbers tremble in their mightiest tower,
Strange words roll o'er their souls with wheels of
thunder,
The leaves from Eoyalty's tree fall hour by hour, —
Earthquakes leap in our Temples, crumbling Throne
and Power.

Yampyres have drain'd the human heart's best blood,
Kings robb'd, and Priests have curst us in God's
name;
Out in the midnight of the Past we've stood —
While fiends of darkness plied their hellish game.
We have been worshipping a gilded crown,
Which drew heaven's lightning-laughter on our
head;

Chains fell on us as we were bowing down;
We deem'd our Gods divine, but lo! instead —
They are but painted clay, — with morn the charm
has fled!

And this is merry England, — cradling-place
Of souls self-deified and glory-crown' d!
Where smiles made splendour in the Peasant's face,
And Justice reign' d — Her awful eyes close-bound!
Where Toil with open brow went on light-hearted,
And twain in love Law never thrust apart?
How is the glory of our life departed
From us, who sit and nurse our bleeding smart;

And slink, afraid to break the laws that break the
heart!

Husht be the Herald on the walls of fame,
Trumping this People as their Country's pride;

Weep rather, with your souls on fire with shame:
See ye not how the palaced knaves deride
Us flatter'd fools? how priestcraft, strong and stealthy,
Stabs at our freedom through its veil of night,
And grinds the poor to flush its coffers wealthy?
Hear how the land groans in the grip of Might,
Then quaff your cup of Wrongs, and laud a Briton's
"Right."

There's not a spot in all this flowery land,
Where Tyranny's cursed brand-mark has not been:
O! -were it not for its all-blasting hand,
Dear Christ, what a sweet heaven this might have
been!
Has it not hunted forth our spirits brave, —
Kill'd the red rose of health that crown'd our
daughters,
Wedded our living hopes unto the grave, —
Filled happy homes with strife, the world with
slaughters,
And turn'd our thoughts to blood — to gall, the
heart's sweet waters $
Where is the spirit of our ancient Sires,
Who, bleeding, wrung their Rights from tyrannies
olden!
Great spirits have been here, for freedom fires
From out their ashes, to earth's heart enfolden;
The mighty dead lie slumbering around, —
Whose names thrill thro' us as Gods were in the air;
Life leaps from where their dust makes holy ground:

Their deeds spring forth in glory, — live all- where, —
But we are traftors to the trust they bade us bear.

Go forth, when Night is husht, and heaven is clothed
With stars that in God's smiling presence roll,
Feel the stirr'd spirit leap to them betrothed,
As Angel- wings were fanning in the soul;
Feel the hot tears flood in the eyes upturning,
The tide of goodness heave its brightest waves, —
Then suddenly crush the grand and God- ward yearning
With the mad thought that ye are bounden slaves!

O! how long will ye make your hearts its living
graves?

Immortal Liberty! we see thee stand
Like Morn just stept from heaven upon a mountain
With beautiful feet, and blessing-laden hand,
And heart whence welleth Love's most living foun-
tain!
O! when wilt thou string on the People's lyre
Joy's broken chord! and on the People's brow
Set Empire's crown! light up thy beacon-fire
Within their hearts, with an undying glow;

Nor give us blood for milk, as men are drunk with
now?

Old Poets tell us of a golden age,
When earth was guiltless, — Gods the guests of men,
Ere sin had dimm'd the heart's illumined page, —
And Sinai- voices say 'twill come again.
()! happy age! when Love shall rule the heart,
And time to live shall be the poor man's dower,
When Martyrs bleed no more, nor Exiles smart, —
Mind is the only diadem of power. —
People, it ripens now! awake! and strike the hour.

Hearts, high and mighty, gather in our cause;

Bless, bless, O God, and crown their earnest labour,
Who dauntless fight to win us equal laws,
With mental armour, and with spirit-sabre!
Bless, bless, O God! the proud intelligence,
That like a sun dawns on the People's forehead, —
Humanity springs from them like incense,
The Future bursts upon them, boundless— star ried —
They weep repentant tears, that they so long have
tarried.