To The English People

If deaf to Shelley's loudest sky-lark strain, His rage at tyrants, and to Byron's thong, Nerve-proof, how wake the English to the wrong Done their true selves, no less than to the slain, When willing weapons for Ambition's gain? Aye, weapons only; for, to whom belong The minds of England, and treed fields of song-- Nay, all but grave-ground, grudged by hill and plain?

O English People, whom the crafty class Has huddled into graves from sight and sound Of what God hands you, and, with pence, or pound, Lids down your wild dead stare,--wake! why so crass? See in the Celts spring-burst from underground, The Human Resurrection come to pass.