My palace is the people's hall, To-day let pomp and vain pretence I set a plain man's common sense The strength of gold and land; While there's a grief to seek redress, Where weighs our living manhood less While there's a right to need my vote, Up! clouted knee and ragged coat! A man's a man to-day! THE EVE OF ELECTION. ROM gold to gray FRO Our mild sweet day Of Indian Summer fades too soon; But tenderly Above the sea Hangs, white and calm, the Hunter's moon. And hear the tread of uncrowned kings! Hark! through the crowd Beneath the sad, rebuking moon. God save the land A careless hand May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon! No jest is this; One cast amiss May blast the hope of Freedom's year. Are hearts of prayer, And foreheads bowed in reverent fear! 95 O martyrs, with your crowns and palms, Your battle songs, Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms! Look from the sky, Like God's great eye, Thou solemn moon, with searching beam; Till in the sight Of thy pure light Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. LE MARAIS DU CYGNE. Shame from our hearts Unworthy arts, The fraud designed, the purpose dark; And smite away The hands we lay Profanely on the sacred ark. To party claims, And private aims, Reveal that august face of Truth, The age of heaven, The beauty of immortal youth. So shall our voice Of sovereign choice Swell the deep bass of duty done, 97 |