05.05.2009, 18:37
TO THE CHARTISTS.
With doubtful purpose, through the doubtful night,
Your spearheads glimmering in the misty moon,
Why gather ye; and with wild lyric tune
Call up the wondering cocks before the light ?
Oh what conflicting sense of wrongs or right
Marshalled ye thus ; and in the star-led noon
Of sleep bade forth ? Hers is a better boon,
Dear countrymen, than that for which ye fight.
Think ye to utter, as the Sybil doth,
Rugged, and strange, but perdurable things;
The world's ordained counsel with mad mouth 1
Now heavy-laden Time wild stories brings
Of Nostradamus ; and the world is drowth,
Gaping for clouds—but Truth keeps the old springs.
With doubtful purpose, through the doubtful night,
Your spearheads glimmering in the misty moon,
Why gather ye; and with wild lyric tune
Call up the wondering cocks before the light ?
Oh what conflicting sense of wrongs or right
Marshalled ye thus ; and in the star-led noon
Of sleep bade forth ? Hers is a better boon,
Dear countrymen, than that for which ye fight.
Think ye to utter, as the Sybil doth,
Rugged, and strange, but perdurable things;
The world's ordained counsel with mad mouth 1
Now heavy-laden Time wild stories brings
Of Nostradamus ; and the world is drowth,
Gaping for clouds—but Truth keeps the old springs.