DEPLORABLE his lot who tills the ground, His whole life long tills it, with heartless toil Of villain-service, passing with the soil To each new Master, like a steer or hound, Or like a rooted tree, or stone earth-bound; But mark how gladly, through their own domains, The Monks relax or break these iron chains; While Mercy, uttering, through their voice, a sound Echoed in Heaven, cries out, "Ye Chiefs, abate These legalized oppressions! Man -- whose name And nature God disdained not; Man -- whose soul Christ died for -- cannot forfeit his high claim To live and move exempt from all control Which fellow-feeling doth not mitigate!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BANJO SONG by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CAVALIER TUNES: GIVE A ROUSE THEN FOR THE CLINIC by ROBERT BROWNING EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L.H. by BEN JONSON THE FIGHT OF THE ARMSTRONG PRIVATEER by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE |