Volume I Part 20 (1/2)

Oh, he that is true to flesh and blood Is true to his own being!

XXVIII

And he that is false to flesh and blood Is false to the star within him: And the mad and hungry sisterhood All under the tides shall win him!

XXIX

My village lily! save me! save!

For strength is with the holy:- Already I shuddered to feel the wave, As I kept sinking slowly:-

x.x.x

I felt the cold wave and the under-tug Of the Brides, when--starting and shrinking - Lo, Adrian tilts the water-jug!

And Bruges with morn is blinking.

x.x.xI

Merrily sparkles sunny prime On gabled peak and arbour: Merrily rattles belfry-chime The song of Sevilla's Barber.

THE OLD CHARTIST

Whate'er I be, old England is my dam!

So there's my answer to the judges, clear.

I'm nothing of a fox, nor of a lamb; I don't know how to bleat nor how to leer: I'm for the nation!

That's why you see me by the wayside here, Returning home from transportation.

II

It's Summer in her bath this morn, I think.

I'm fresh as dew, and chirpy as the birds: And just for joy to see old England wink Thro' leaves again, I could harangue the herds: Isn't it something To speak out like a man when you've got words, And prove you're not a stupid dumb thing?

III

They s.h.i.+pp'd me of for it; I'm here again.

Old England is my dam, whate'er I be!

Says I, I'll tramp it home, and see the grain: If you see well, you're king of what you see: Eyesight is having, If you're not given, I said, to gluttony.

Such talk to ignorance sounds as raving.

IV

You dear old brook, that from his Grace's park Come bounding! on you run near my old town: My lord can't lock the water; nor the lark, Unless he kills him, can my lord keep down.

Up, is the song-note!

I've tried it, too:- for comfort and renown, I rather pitch'd upon the wrong note.

V

I'm not ashamed: Not beaten's still my boast: Again I'll rouse the people up to strike.

But home's where different politics jar most.

Respectability the women like.