Classic Poem

LXXI.

Let restless discontent, or lust for wealth,
Roam round the world on vanity's light wings,
Burst nature's tenderest ties, sell honour, health,
And heaven's bright hopes, for earth's decaying things
Give me the rest which meek contentment brings,
My warmest thoughts the world to come employ,
And pure outwelling from my native springs,
Untinged with pride, or slavery's base alloy,
With honest labour quaff the cup of genuine joy.

LXXII.

Say, thou, who Fortune's high career hast run,
To darling gold devoted from the womb,
Who bold hast dar'd the poles, the burning zone,
And 'scap'd as 'twere by miracle the tomb, —
Can this same gold restore thy blasted bloom?
Can townships, honour, feeling, truth supply?
Can all thy numerous slaves again relume
These features wan — that shrunk lack lustre eye?
A deep despairing groan is all thy poor reply.

LXXIII.

Creation's boldest scenes thou may'st have trod,
Paraguay, and the vale of rich Peru,
From high Himaleh cast thine eyes abroad,
Where sunny Cashmere glows upon the view.
Thou may'st have roam'd thro' ardent Afric too,
Where Nature, ever verdant, keeps her reign;
But stubborn, to thy wretched purpose true,
Except they led the way to certain gain,
Thy sordid soul beheld, and spurn'd them with disdain.

LXXIV.

The poor inhabitant thou might'st have bless'd,
Taught him to till the soil, to stem the wave,
Or open'd on his eye those regions vast,
That rise in light beyond the gloomy grave
But thine was not the errand meek to save,
Thou found'st him poor, but left'st him more forlorn;
Perhaps to be for aye thy weeping slave,
His back with stripes, his hands with labour worn,
From all his soul held dear relentless he was torn.

LXXV.

Why dost thou start to hear the passing wind,
That lingers playful on the leafy tree?
Why wake thy fears, with circumspection join'd
Amid the peaceful peasant's harmless glee?
Alas! alas! 'tis now in vain for thee,
That the gay dawn lifts up her joyous eyes,
That nature bounds to her wild melody,
For in thy breast matur'd guilt's offspring lies —
His endless toils begun, the worm that never dies.

LXXVI.

Nor long on thee shall morn reluctant smile,
Nor thou remain on God's fair world a blot;
Tho' patience pause, the grave expands the while,
And kindling Tophet yawns more fiery hot
One little hour, behold! and thou art not!
Thy name, thy dwelling-place hath pass'd away!
And even thy very crimes, on earth forgot,
Have ceas'd, with foul and ulcerous display,
To shock the feeling heart, and blur the beams of day.

LXXVII.

Hast thou, O England, nerves of temper'd steel?
Is thy iron heart in triple brass enclos'd,
Thy conscience sear'd compunction ne'er to feel,
For wretchedness on half the world impos'd?
With sounding names thy traffic may be gloss'd,
But ah! thy ever-grasping hands are foul;
With Vanity's vile fumes thou may'st be dos'd
And fearless, tho' the Heavens vindictive scowl,
The gloomy wastes of earth for prey insatiate prowl.

LXXVIII.

Thy name is on the winds, and round the earth
The glory of thy arts and arms is borne,
And truth from thee celestial hath gone forth,
In all the glorious attributes of morn;
But sons of thine most cruelly have torn
The page that should transmit thy spotless fame,
And unappeas'd would yet defile thy horn,
And set thee helpless, naked, blind, and lame,
To heaven and earth expos'd a monument of shame.

LXXIX.

And blood is in thy skirts, and in thy streets
Th' appalling voice of violence and guile;
In midst of thee each vile affection meets,
And all the wasting passions ceaseless boil.
And pamper'd Idleness, and famish'd Toil,
In fronted opposition scowling sit,
And Cobbets, Woolers, Hunts, and Hones, the while,
Thy bleeding sores with venom'd caustic fret,
And hope, and watch, and urge, the coming deadly fit.

LXXX.

Thy loosen'd loins, O! gird them up with truth,
With temper'd justice arm thy fearless hands,
Let ardent zeal inspire the glow of youth,
And mercy light thee into other lands.
Nor laugh to scorn what nature's voice demands,
Instruction, bread, protection for the poor;
Relentless break th' oppressor's iron bands,
So stable may thy mountain stand secure,
Unshaken, unremov'd, in judgment's darkest hour.