Ciências Humanas e Sociais
As edições & ect acabaram de editar a tradução para português do poema de P.B.Shelley, The Maske of Anarchy ( A Máscara da Anarquia), escrito por aquele poeta inglês no início do século XIX
CANÇÃO PARA OS HOMENS DE INGLATERRA
Homens de Inglaterra, porquê lavrar
Para os senhores que vos derrubam?
Porquê tecer com esforço e cuidado
As ricas roupas que vestem os vossos tiranos?
Porquê alimentar, e vestir, e proteger,
Do berço até à sepultura,
Aqueles ingratos zângãos que
Exauririam o vosso suor como beberiam também o vosso sangue?
Porquê, Abelhas de Inglaterra, forjar
Tantas armas, grilhetas e chicotes
Se esses zângãos sem ferrão podem destruir
O produto forçado da vossa labuta?
Será que tendes lazer, conforto, calma,
Abrigo, comida, o doce bálsamo do amor?
O que é então que comprais tão caro
Com a vossa dor e com o vosso medo?
O grão que semeais, colhe-o outro;
A riqueza que encontrais, fica outro com ela;
As roupas que teceis, outro as veste;
As armas que forjais, as usa outro.
Semeai grão, — mas não deixeis que nenhum tirano o colha;
Encontrai riqueza, — não deixeis nenhum impostor acumulá-la;
Tecei roupas, — não deixeis nenhum ocioso usá-las;
Forjai armas, — a usar em vossa defesa.
Recolhei às vossas caves, buracos e cubículos;
Nas mansões que embelezais, outro lá vive.
Porquê sacudir as grilhetas que forjastes? Vedes
O aço que temperastes brilhar sobre vós.
Com o arado e a pá, e a enxada e o tear,
Cavai a vossa sepultura e construí o vosso túmulo,
E tecei a vossa mortalha, até que a bela
Inglaterra seja o vosso sepulcro.
Percy Bysshe Shelley (Sussex, 4 de agosto de 1792 — Mar Lígure, 8 de julho de 1822) foi um importante poeta romântico inglês. Foi desprezado na era vitoriana pelas suas idéias libertárias. Morreu aos 29 anos na Itália. Foi amigo de Lord Byron. Sua mulher Mary Shelley escreveu aquela que se tornou uma das mais intrigantes novelas da literatura moderna, o Frankenstein.
Shelley foi também companheiro de noitadas no vinho e nas discussões filosóficas, de Lord Byron, este considerado um marco referencial do pensamento Romântico na Literatura Inglesa e também na Literatura mundial. Após a morte de Shelley por afogamento, a sua mulher Mary Shelley responsabilizou-se pela publicação das suas obras.
Ele ainda viria a tornar-se um ídolo dos poetas vitorianos e dos pré-rafaelitas. Foi também admirado por figuras como Karl Marx, Henry Salt, George Bernard Shaw e Yeats. Compositores como Ralph Vaughan Williams e Samuel Barber, escreveram musica baseada nos seus poemas.
Para saber mais, consultar:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percy_Bysshe_Shelley
Obras completas:
www.asiaing.com/the-complete-poems-of-percy-bysshe-shelley.html
The Masque of Anarchy é um poema político escrito em 1819 por Percy Bysshe Shelley na sequência do massacre de Peterloo massacre ocorrido nesse ano ( quando uma carga de cavalaria sobre uma multidão de mais de 70.000 pessoas que pediam reformas provocou um autêntico massacre)
Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another;
Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you-
Ye are many — they are few.
THE MASQUE OF ANARCHY.
I.
As I lay asleep in Italy,
There came a voice from over the sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.
II.
I met Murder on the way--
He had a mask like Castlereagh--
Very smooth he look'd yet grim;
Seven bloodhounds followed him:
III.
All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them humanhearts to chew,
Which from his wide cloak he drew.
IV.
Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Lord E--, an ermined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell;
V.
And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had their brains knockedout by, them.
VI.
Clothed with the * * as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like * * * next, Hypocrisy,
On a crocodile rode by.
VII.
And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like bishops,lawyers, peers, or spies.
VIII.
Last came Anarchy; he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.
IX.
And be wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
And on his brow this mark I saw--
I am God, and King, and Law!
X.
With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he past,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoringmultitude.
XI.
And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.
XII.
And with glorious triumph, they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.
XIII.
O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Passed the pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down,
Till they came to London: town.
D
XIV.
And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken,
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.
XV.
For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
Ile hired murderers who did sing,
Thou art God, and Law, and King.
XVI.
"We have waited, weak and lone,
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold."
XVII.
Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering-"Thou art Law and God."
D 2
Then all cried with one accord,
"Thou art King, and God, and Lord;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!"
XIX.
And Anarchy, the skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education,
Had cost ten millions to the nation.
xx.
For he knew the palaces
Of our kings were nightly his;
His the sceptre, crown, and globe,
And the gold-in-woven robe.
XXI.
So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned parliament,
XXII.
When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said:
But she looked more like Despair;
And she cried out in the air;
XXVII.
"My father, Time, is weak and grey
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!
XXIV.
"He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled
Over every one but me--
Misery! oh, Misery!"
XXV.
Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses' feet,
Expecting with a patient eye,
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.
XXVI.
When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak and frail.
Like the vapour of the vale:
XXVII.
Till, as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crown'd giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,
XVIII.
It grew -- a shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper's scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.
XXIX.
On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the morning's, lay;
And those plumes it light rained through,
Like a shower of crimson dew,
XXX.
With step as soft as wind it passed
O'er the heads of men -- so fast
That they knew the presence there,
And looked-and all was empty air.
XXXI.
As flowers beneath the footstep waken,
As stars from night's loose hair are shaken,,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.
XXXII.
And the prostrate multitude
Looked -- and ankle deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien:
XXXIII.
And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death, tameless as wind,
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.
XXXIV.
A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
A sense, awakening and yet tender,
Was heard and felt -- and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose:
XXXV.
(As if their own indignant earth,
Which gave the sons of England birth,
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother's throe,
XXXVI.
Had turned every drop of blood,
By which her face had been bedewed,
To an accent unwithstood,
As if her heart had cried aloud:)
XXXVII.
"Men of England, Heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty mother,
Hopes of her, and one another,
XXXVIII.
"Rise, like lions after slumber,
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew,
Which in sleep had fall'n on you.
XXXIX.
"What is Freedom? Ye can tell
That which Slavery is too well,
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.
XL.
"'Tis to work, and have such pay
,As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants' use to dwell:
XLI.
"So that ye for them are made,
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade;
With or without your own will, bent
To their defense and nourishment.
XLII.
"'Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak;
When the winter winds are bleak:
They are dying whilst I speak.
XLIII.
"'Tis to hunger for such diet,
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye.
XLIV.
"'Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from toil a thousand fold,
More than e'er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old:
XLV.
"Paper coin--that forgery
Of the title deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.
E
XLVI.
"'Tis to be a slave in Soul,
And to bold no strong controul.
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.
XLVII.
"And at length when ye complain,
With a murmur weak and vain,
'Tis to see the tyrant's crew
Ride over your wives and you:
Blood is on the grass like dew.
XLVIII.
"Then it is to feel revenge,
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood-and wrong for wrong:
DO NOT THUS, WHEN YE ARE STRONG.
XLIX.
"Birds find rest in narrow nest,
When-weary of the winged quest;
Beasts find fare in woody lair,
When storm and snow are in the air.
E 2
L.
"Asses, swine, have litter spread,
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one:
Thou, oh Englishman, hast none!
LI.
"This is Slavery-savage men,
Or wild beasts within a den,
Would endure not as ye do:
But such ills they never knew.
LII.
"What art thou, Freedom? Oh! could Slaves
Answer from their living graves
This demand, tyrants would flee
Like a dream's dim imagery.
LIII.
Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
Echoing from the eaves of Fame.
LIV.
"For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread,
From his daily labour come,
In a neat and happy home.
LV.
"Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude:
NO-in countries that are free
Stich starvation cannot be,
As in England now we see.
LVI.
"To the rich thou art. a check;
When his foot is on the neck
Of his victim; thou dost make
That he treads upon a snake.
LVII.
"Thou art Justice--ne'er for gold
May thy righteous laws be sold,
As laws are in England:--thou
Sheild'st alike the high and low.
"Thou art Wisdom-Freedom never
Dreams that God will damn for ever
All who think those things untrue,
Of which priests make such ado
LIX.
"Thou art Peace-never by thee
Would blood and treasure wasted be,
As tyrants wasted them, when all
Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul,
LX.
"What if English toil and blood
Was poured forth-, even as a flood!
It availed,--oh Liberty!
To dim --- but not extinguish thee.
LXI.
"Thou art Love--the rich have kist
Thy feet, and like him following Christ,
Give their substance to the free,
And through the rough world follow thee.
LXII.
"Oh turn their wealth to arms, and make
War for thy beloved sake,
On wealth and war and fraud: whence they
Drew the power which is their prey.
LXIII.
"Science, and Poetry, and Thought,
Are thy lamps; they make the lot
Of the dwellers in a cot
So serene, they curse it not.
LXIV.
"Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
All that can adorn and bless,
Art thou: let deeds, not words, express
Thine exceeding loveliness.
LXV.
"Let a great assembly be
Of the fearless, of the free,
On some spot of English ground,
Where the plains stretch wide around.
LXVI.
"Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth, on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be,
Witness the solemnity.
LXVII.
"From the corners uttermost
Of the bounds of English coast;
From every but, village, and town,
Where those who live and suffer, moan
For others' misery and their own:
LXVIII.
"From the workhouse and the prison,
Where pale as corpses newly risen,
Women, children, young, and old,
Groan for pain, and weep for cold;
LXIX.
"From the haunts of daily life,
Where is waged the daily strife
With common wants and common cares,
Which sow the human heart with tares;
LXX.
"Lastly, from the palaces,
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Of a wind alive around;
LXXI.
"Those prison-halls of wealth and fashion,
Where some few feel such compassion
For those who groan, and toil, and wait,
As must make their brethren pale;
LXXII.
"Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold;
LXXIII.
"Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words, that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free!
LXXIV.
"Be your strong and simple words
Keen to wound as sharpened swords,
And wide as targes let them be,
With their shade to cover ye.
LXXV.
Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.
LXXVI.
"Let the charged artillery drive,
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses' heels.
LXXVII.
"Let the fixed bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood, Looking keen as one for food.
F
LXXVIII.
"Let the horsemen's scimitars
Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars,
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning.
LXXIX.
"Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms, and looks which are
Weapons of an unvanquished war.
LXXX.
"And let Panic, who outspeeds
The career of armed steeds,
Pass, a disregarded shade,
Thro' your phalanx indismay'd.
The three stanzas next ensuing are printed in italics, not because
they are better, or indeed so well written, as some of the rest, but as
marking out the sober, lawful, and charitable mode of proceeding
advocated and anticipated by this supposed reckless innovator. 1, "Pus-
obedience " he certainly had not; but here follows a picture and a
recommendation of "non-resistance, " in all its glory. The mingled
emotion and dignity of it is admirably, expressed in the second line of
stanza eighty-five. Let churches millitant read it, and blush to call
the author no Christian !
LXXXI.
"Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand,
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters of the dispute.
LXXXII.
"The old laws of England--they
Whose reverend heads with age are grey,
Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo--Liberty!
LXXXIII.
"On those who first should violate
Such sacred heralds in their state,
Rest the blood that must ensue,
And it will not rest on you.
LXXXIV.
"And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you there;
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew;
What they like, that let them do.
LXXXV.
"With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear and less surprise,
Look upon them as they stay
Till their rage hasdied away:
LXXXVI.
"Then they will return with shame,
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hotblushes on their cheek,
LXXXVII.
"Every woman in the land
Will point at them as they stand
They will hardly dare to greet
Their acquaintance in the street:
LXXXVIII.
"And the bold, true warriors,
Who have hugged Danger in wars,
Will turn to those who would be free
Ashamed of such base company:
LXXXIX.
"And that slaughter to the nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular,
A volcano heard afar:
XC.
"And these words shall then become
Like Oppressions thundered doom,
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again--again--again.
XCI.
Rise like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable NUMBER!
Shake your chains to earth, like dew
Which in sleep had fall'n on you:
YE ARE MANY-THEY ARE FEW.
THE END.
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Ciências Humanas e Sociais
Editado em português o poema de P.B Shelley, A Máscara da Anarquia ( nas edições & etc)
http://www.editoraeetc.com/
As edições & ect acabaram de editar a tradução para português do poema de P.B.Shelley, The Maske of Anarchy ( A Máscara da Anarquia), escrito por aquele poeta inglês no início do século XIX
CANÇÃO PARA OS HOMENS DE INGLATERRAHomens de Inglaterra, porquê lavrar
Para os senhores que vos derrubam?
Porquê tecer com esforço e cuidado
As ricas roupas que vestem os vossos tiranos?
Porquê alimentar, e vestir, e proteger,
Do berço até à sepultura,
Aqueles ingratos zângãos que
Exauririam o vosso suor como beberiam também o vosso sangue?
Porquê, Abelhas de Inglaterra, forjar
Tantas armas, grilhetas e chicotes
Se esses zângãos sem ferrão podem destruir
O produto forçado da vossa labuta?
Será que tendes lazer, conforto, calma,
Abrigo, comida, o doce bálsamo do amor?
O que é então que comprais tão caro
Com a vossa dor e com o vosso medo?
O grão que semeais, colhe-o outro;
A riqueza que encontrais, fica outro com ela;
As roupas que teceis, outro as veste;
As armas que forjais, as usa outro.
Semeai grão, — mas não deixeis que nenhum tirano o colha;
Encontrai riqueza, — não deixeis nenhum impostor acumulá-la;
Tecei roupas, — não deixeis nenhum ocioso usá-las;
Forjai armas, — a usar em vossa defesa.
Recolhei às vossas caves, buracos e cubículos;
Nas mansões que embelezais, outro lá vive.
Porquê sacudir as grilhetas que forjastes? Vedes
O aço que temperastes brilhar sobre vós.
Com o arado e a pá, e a enxada e o tear,
Cavai a vossa sepultura e construí o vosso túmulo,
E tecei a vossa mortalha, até que a bela
Inglaterra seja o vosso sepulcro.
Percy B. Shelley, in "A Máscara da Anarquia seguido de cinco poemas de 1819" & etc, 2008
trad. Célia Henriques e Eduarda Dionísio
( poesia e imagem retiradas do blogue http://ocafedosloucos.blogspot.com/)
Percy Bysshe Shelley (Sussex, 4 de agosto de 1792 — Mar Lígure, 8 de julho de 1822) foi um importante poeta romântico inglês. Foi desprezado na era vitoriana pelas suas idéias libertárias. Morreu aos 29 anos na Itália. Foi amigo de Lord Byron. Sua mulher Mary Shelley escreveu aquela que se tornou uma das mais intrigantes novelas da literatura moderna, o Frankenstein.
Shelley foi também companheiro de noitadas no vinho e nas discussões filosóficas, de Lord Byron, este considerado um marco referencial do pensamento Romântico na Literatura Inglesa e também na Literatura mundial. Após a morte de Shelley por afogamento, a sua mulher Mary Shelley responsabilizou-se pela publicação das suas obras.
Ele ainda viria a tornar-se um ídolo dos poetas vitorianos e dos pré-rafaelitas. Foi também admirado por figuras como Karl Marx, Henry Salt, George Bernard Shaw e Yeats. Compositores como Ralph Vaughan Williams e Samuel Barber, escreveram musica baseada nos seus poemas.
Para saber mais, consultar:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percy_Bysshe_Shelley
Obras completas:
www.asiaing.com/the-complete-poems-of-percy-bysshe-shelley.html
The Masque of Anarchy é um poema político escrito em 1819 por Percy Bysshe Shelley na sequência do massacre de Peterloo massacre ocorrido nesse ano ( quando uma carga de cavalaria sobre uma multidão de mais de 70.000 pessoas que pediam reformas provocou um autêntico massacre)
Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another;
Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you-
Ye are many — they are few.
THE MASQUE OF ANARCHY.
I.
As I lay asleep in Italy,
There came a voice from over the sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.
II.
I met Murder on the way--
He had a mask like Castlereagh--
Very smooth he look'd yet grim;
Seven bloodhounds followed him:
III.
All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them humanhearts to chew,
Which from his wide cloak he drew.
IV.
Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Lord E--, an ermined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell;
V.
And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had their brains knockedout by, them.
VI.
Clothed with the * * as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like * * * next, Hypocrisy,
On a crocodile rode by.
VII.
And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like bishops,lawyers, peers, or spies.
VIII.
Last came Anarchy; he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.
IX.
And be wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
And on his brow this mark I saw--
I am God, and King, and Law!
X.
With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he past,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoringmultitude.
XI.
And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.
XII.
And with glorious triumph, they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.
XIII.
O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Passed the pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down,
Till they came to London: town.
D
XIV.
And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken,
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.
XV.
For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
Ile hired murderers who did sing,
Thou art God, and Law, and King.
XVI.
"We have waited, weak and lone,
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold."
XVII.
Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering-"Thou art Law and God."
D 2
Then all cried with one accord,
"Thou art King, and God, and Lord;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!"
XIX.
And Anarchy, the skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education,
Had cost ten millions to the nation.
xx.
For he knew the palaces
Of our kings were nightly his;
His the sceptre, crown, and globe,
And the gold-in-woven robe.
XXI.
So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned parliament,
XXII.
When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said:
But she looked more like Despair;
And she cried out in the air;
XXVII.
"My father, Time, is weak and grey
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!
XXIV.
"He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled
Over every one but me--
Misery! oh, Misery!"
XXV.
Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses' feet,
Expecting with a patient eye,
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.
XXVI.
When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak and frail.
Like the vapour of the vale:
XXVII.
Till, as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crown'd giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,
XVIII.
It grew -- a shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper's scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.
XXIX.
On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the morning's, lay;
And those plumes it light rained through,
Like a shower of crimson dew,
XXX.
With step as soft as wind it passed
O'er the heads of men -- so fast
That they knew the presence there,
And looked-and all was empty air.
XXXI.
As flowers beneath the footstep waken,
As stars from night's loose hair are shaken,,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.
XXXII.
And the prostrate multitude
Looked -- and ankle deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien:
XXXIII.
And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death, tameless as wind,
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.
XXXIV.
A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
A sense, awakening and yet tender,
Was heard and felt -- and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose:
XXXV.
(As if their own indignant earth,
Which gave the sons of England birth,
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother's throe,
XXXVI.
Had turned every drop of blood,
By which her face had been bedewed,
To an accent unwithstood,
As if her heart had cried aloud:)
XXXVII.
"Men of England, Heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty mother,
Hopes of her, and one another,
XXXVIII.
"Rise, like lions after slumber,
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew,
Which in sleep had fall'n on you.
XXXIX.
"What is Freedom? Ye can tell
That which Slavery is too well,
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.
XL.
"'Tis to work, and have such pay
,As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants' use to dwell:
XLI.
"So that ye for them are made,
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade;
With or without your own will, bent
To their defense and nourishment.
XLII.
"'Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak;
When the winter winds are bleak:
They are dying whilst I speak.
XLIII.
"'Tis to hunger for such diet,
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye.
XLIV.
"'Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from toil a thousand fold,
More than e'er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old:
XLV.
"Paper coin--that forgery
Of the title deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.
E
XLVI.
"'Tis to be a slave in Soul,
And to bold no strong controul.
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.
XLVII.
"And at length when ye complain,
With a murmur weak and vain,
'Tis to see the tyrant's crew
Ride over your wives and you:
Blood is on the grass like dew.
XLVIII.
"Then it is to feel revenge,
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood-and wrong for wrong:
DO NOT THUS, WHEN YE ARE STRONG.
XLIX.
"Birds find rest in narrow nest,
When-weary of the winged quest;
Beasts find fare in woody lair,
When storm and snow are in the air.
E 2
L.
"Asses, swine, have litter spread,
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one:
Thou, oh Englishman, hast none!
LI.
"This is Slavery-savage men,
Or wild beasts within a den,
Would endure not as ye do:
But such ills they never knew.
LII.
"What art thou, Freedom? Oh! could Slaves
Answer from their living graves
This demand, tyrants would flee
Like a dream's dim imagery.
LIII.
Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
Echoing from the eaves of Fame.
LIV.
"For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread,
From his daily labour come,
In a neat and happy home.
LV.
"Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude:
NO-in countries that are free
Stich starvation cannot be,
As in England now we see.
LVI.
"To the rich thou art. a check;
When his foot is on the neck
Of his victim; thou dost make
That he treads upon a snake.
LVII.
"Thou art Justice--ne'er for gold
May thy righteous laws be sold,
As laws are in England:--thou
Sheild'st alike the high and low.
"Thou art Wisdom-Freedom never
Dreams that God will damn for ever
All who think those things untrue,
Of which priests make such ado
LIX.
"Thou art Peace-never by thee
Would blood and treasure wasted be,
As tyrants wasted them, when all
Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul,
LX.
"What if English toil and blood
Was poured forth-, even as a flood!
It availed,--oh Liberty!
To dim --- but not extinguish thee.
LXI.
"Thou art Love--the rich have kist
Thy feet, and like him following Christ,
Give their substance to the free,
And through the rough world follow thee.
LXII.
"Oh turn their wealth to arms, and make
War for thy beloved sake,
On wealth and war and fraud: whence they
Drew the power which is their prey.
LXIII.
"Science, and Poetry, and Thought,
Are thy lamps; they make the lot
Of the dwellers in a cot
So serene, they curse it not.
LXIV.
"Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
All that can adorn and bless,
Art thou: let deeds, not words, express
Thine exceeding loveliness.
LXV.
"Let a great assembly be
Of the fearless, of the free,
On some spot of English ground,
Where the plains stretch wide around.
LXVI.
"Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth, on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be,
Witness the solemnity.
LXVII.
"From the corners uttermost
Of the bounds of English coast;
From every but, village, and town,
Where those who live and suffer, moan
For others' misery and their own:
LXVIII.
"From the workhouse and the prison,
Where pale as corpses newly risen,
Women, children, young, and old,
Groan for pain, and weep for cold;
LXIX.
"From the haunts of daily life,
Where is waged the daily strife
With common wants and common cares,
Which sow the human heart with tares;
LXX.
"Lastly, from the palaces,
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Of a wind alive around;
LXXI.
"Those prison-halls of wealth and fashion,
Where some few feel such compassion
For those who groan, and toil, and wait,
As must make their brethren pale;
LXXII.
"Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold;
LXXIII.
"Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words, that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free!
LXXIV.
"Be your strong and simple words
Keen to wound as sharpened swords,
And wide as targes let them be,
With their shade to cover ye.
LXXV.
Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.
LXXVI.
"Let the charged artillery drive,
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses' heels.
LXXVII.
"Let the fixed bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood, Looking keen as one for food.
F
LXXVIII.
"Let the horsemen's scimitars
Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars,
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning.
LXXIX.
"Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms, and looks which are
Weapons of an unvanquished war.
LXXX.
"And let Panic, who outspeeds
The career of armed steeds,
Pass, a disregarded shade,
Thro' your phalanx indismay'd.
The three stanzas next ensuing are printed in italics, not because
they are better, or indeed so well written, as some of the rest, but as
marking out the sober, lawful, and charitable mode of proceeding
advocated and anticipated by this supposed reckless innovator. 1, "Pus-
obedience " he certainly had not; but here follows a picture and a
recommendation of "non-resistance, " in all its glory. The mingled
emotion and dignity of it is admirably, expressed in the second line of
stanza eighty-five. Let churches millitant read it, and blush to call
the author no Christian !
LXXXI.
"Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand,
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters of the dispute.
LXXXII.
"The old laws of England--they
Whose reverend heads with age are grey,
Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo--Liberty!
LXXXIII.
"On those who first should violate
Such sacred heralds in their state,
Rest the blood that must ensue,
And it will not rest on you.
LXXXIV.
"And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you there;
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew;
What they like, that let them do.
LXXXV.
"With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear and less surprise,
Look upon them as they stay
Till their rage hasdied away:
LXXXVI.
"Then they will return with shame,
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hotblushes on their cheek,
LXXXVII.
"Every woman in the land
Will point at them as they stand
They will hardly dare to greet
Their acquaintance in the street:
LXXXVIII.
"And the bold, true warriors,
Who have hugged Danger in wars,
Will turn to those who would be free
Ashamed of such base company:
LXXXIX.
"And that slaughter to the nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular,
A volcano heard afar:
XC.
"And these words shall then become
Like Oppressions thundered doom,
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again--again--again.
XCI.
Rise like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable NUMBER!
Shake your chains to earth, like dew
Which in sleep had fall'n on you:
YE ARE MANY-THEY ARE FEW.
THE END.
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