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Untitled Article
* Then who can blame the cramp'd up being , pent In airless cage , who , when he feels thy ray Warming his soul , breaks his imprisonment , And breathes the lux ' ry of a sunny day . O ; ye bright race ! who can at will enjoy The healthful freshness of the earth and sky , Strive not the poor ' s enjoyments to destroy : — They are the gifts of heav ' n : and He on high Rains blessings for the whole , on down or straw that He . '
The concluding stanzas of the poem alike deserve the attention of the poet and of the politician . They are strong breathings of the spirit which is abroad amongst the operatives , a spirit which will speak with many tongues , and by the mouths of apostles not easily silenced ;—4 Thus , thus , St . Monday wears away ; but , hush ! Methinks I hear the lords of many tomes
Condemn as vulgar , this my song , and push It from them , as if fill'd with poisoning fumes . 'Tis true I prattle not of 4 < drooping lilies , *' And " green fields , " in sweet sugar-candy odes : — Of " lowing herds / ' or " milk maids" rural billies , Of " Naiads , " " driads , " " fawns /* and their abodes ; Nor sworded knight , nor steed bearing such cut-throat loads
But if those gentlemen who versify The plough , are honour ed with the laurel bough ; Apollo surely will not frown when I Warble of those who made the self-same plough . And if it is meet to sing of braggart beaus , Who swear and swagger in the tented fields , Surely I may have leave to sing of those Who made their tinsel , helmets , swords , and shields The artisan—who , fire , earth , air , and water wields .
4 What could we do without the artisan ? Surely but little , and that little weakly , And on a wishy-washy baby plan , And all would go on awkwardly and sickly . "Without them , heroes could not rush to war , Or lovers woo : and those with pride full blown , Would be but simple things ; the " bench'' and 44 bar " Would want their solemn wig and silken gown , E ' en William , our good King , would be without a throne .
* Whence springs old England ' s pow ' r the world to lead ? Her palaces ? her splendid argosies ? The golden lading of her ships that speed Like mighty spirits wing'd , on ev ' ry breeze ? The artisan , alas ! he is the soul , The source of all her wealth , tho' little priz'd , From his incessant toil her treasures roll , And in that toil his life is sacrificed , And he too is contemn'd , neglected * and despis'd .
Untitled Article
834 Saint Monday .
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Dec. 2, 1833, page 834, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2628/page/30/
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