The Peasants' Revolt. {35}

Thro' the mists of years, Thro' the lies of men, Your bloody sweat and tears, Your desperate hopes and fears Reach us once again.

Brothers, who long ago, For life's bitter sake Toiled and suffered so, Robbery, insult, blow, Rope and sword and stake:

Toiled and suffered, till It burst, the brightening hope, "Might and right" and "will and skill," That scorned, and does, and will, Sword and stake and rope!

Wat and Jack and John, Tyler, Straw, and Ball, Souls that faltered not, Hearts like white iron hot, Still we hear your call!

Yes, your "bell is rung," Yes, for "now is time!" Come hither, every one, Brave ghosts whose day's not done, Avengers of old rime,--

Come and lead the way, Hushed, implacable, Suffering no delay, Forgetting not that day Dreadful, hateful, fell,

When the liar king, The liar gentlemen, Wrought that foulest thing, Robbing, murdering Men who'd trusted them!

Come and lead the way, Hushed, implacable. What shall stop us, say, On that day, our day?-- Not unloosened hell!

"ANALOGY." (To D---- L----.)

Had you lived when a tyrant king Strove to make all the slaves of one, With nobles and with churchmen you Had stood unflinching, pure and true, To annihilate that hateful thing Green Runnymeade beat out of John?

Had you lived when a wanton crew, Flash scoundrels of a day outdone, Trod down the toilers birth derides, With Cromwell and his Ironsides The brave days had discovered you, Where Naseby saw the gallants run?

And yet you,--this same knight in list For freedom in her narrow dawn Against that one, against those few, Vile king, vile nobles--you, yet you Stand by the bloody Capitalist, Fight with the pandar Gentleman!

IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE.

The stars shone faint through the smoky blue; The church-bells were ringing; Three girls, arms laced, were passing through, Tramping and singing.

Their heads were bare; their short skirts swung As they went along; Their scarf-covered breasts heaved up, as they sung Their defiant song.

It was not too clean, their feminine lay, But it thrilled me quite With its challenge to task-master villainous day And infamous night,

With its threat to the robber rich, the proud, The respectable free. And I laughed and shouted to them aloud, And they shouted to me!

"Girls, that's the shout, the shout we shall utter When with rifles and spades, We stand, with the old Red Flag aflutter, On the barricades!"

A STREET FIGHT. (To MR F----.)

Sir, we approve your curling lip and nose At this vile sight. These men, these women are brute beasts?--Who knows, Sir, but that you are right?

Panders and harlots, rogues and thieves and worse, We are a crew Whose pitiful plunder's honoured in the purse Of gentlemen like you.

Whom holy Competition's taught (like us) "What's thine is mine!"-- How we must love you who have made us thus, You may perhaps divine!

IN AN EAST END HOVEL. TO A WORKMAN, A WOULD-BE SUICIDE.

Man of despair and death, Bought and slaved in the gangs, Starved and stripped and left To the pitiful pitiless night, Away with your selfish thoughts! Touch not your ignorant life! Are there no masters of slaves, Jeering, cynical, strong-- Are there no brigands (say), With the words of Christ on their lips And the daggers under their cloaks-- Is there not one of these That you can steal on and kill? O as the Swiss mountaineer Dogged on the perilous heights His disciplined conqueror foes: {39a} Caught up one in his arms And, laughing exultantly, Plunged with him to the abyss: So let it be with you! An eye for an eye, and a tooth For a tooth, and a life for a life! Tell it, this hateful strong Contemptuous hypocrite world, Tell it that, if we must live As dogs and as worse than dogs, At least we can die like men! Tell it there is a woe Not for the conquered alone! {39b} An eye for an eye, and a tooth For a tooth, and a life for a life!

DUBLIN AT DAWN.

In the chill grey summer dawn-light We pass through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent; No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners, A man in a great-coat stands; A bayonet hangs by his side, and A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city; It speaks of war not peace; And that's one of the English soldiers The English call "police."

You see, at the present moment That noble country of mine Is boiling with indignation At the memory of a "crime."

In a path in the Phoenix Park where The children romped and ran, An Irish ruffian met his doom, And an English gentleman.

For a hundred and over a hundred Years on the country side Men and women and children Have slaved and starved and died,

That those who slaved and starved them Might spend their earnings then, And the Irish ruffians have a "good time," And the English gentlemen.

And that's why at the present moment That noble country of mine Is boiling with indignation At the memory of a "crime."

For the Irish ruffians (they tell me), And it looks as if 'twere true, And the English gentlemen are so scarce, We could not spare those two!

In the chill grey summer dawn-light We pass through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent; No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners, A man in a great-coat stands; A bayonet hangs by his side, and A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city; It speaks of war not peace; And that's one of the English soldiers The English call "police."

THE CAGED EAGLE.

. . . I went the other day To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed In the London Zoo. One of the first I saw-- One of the first I noticed, was an eagle. Ragged, befouled, within his iron bars He sat without a movement or a sound, And, when I stood and pitying looked at him, I saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed Out to the horizon sky. I passed from there, And walked about the gardens, hither and thither, Till all the afternoon was spent. Returning then To seek my home, again by chance I passed The eagle's cage, and stood again, and looked, And saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed Out to the horizon sky. So I went home . . . The eagle is Ireland!