POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819.

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 looked, 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 human hearts to chew, Which from his white cloak he drew.

IV.

Next came Fraud, and he had on,

Like Lord E, an ermine 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 knocked out by them.

VI.

Clothed with the bible as with light,

And the shadow of the night,

Like S*** next, Hypocrisy,

On a crocodile came 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 he wore a kingly crown;
In his hand a sceptre shone;
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 adoring multitude.

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.

XIV.

And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken,
Hearing the tremendous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.

XV.

For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
The 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!"

XVIII.

Then all cried with one accord,

"Thou art King, and Law, and Lord;

Anarchy, to thee we bow,

Be thy name made holy now!"

ΧΙΧ.

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-inwoven robe.

ΧΧΙ.

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:

XXIII.

"My father, Time is weak and grey
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Trembling 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-crowned giants striding fast,

And glare with lightnings as they fly,

And speak in thunder to the sky,

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 May's footsteps 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!

GG

XXXVIII.

"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.

"So that ye for them are made,

Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade;
With or without your own will, bent
To their defence 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.