The Vision of Famine.
Part Second.
In bright effulgence rose the summer sun, upon the
Natal morn of Albion’s lovely Queen ! as round the
Palace walls the minstrels thronged, to hail the day’s
Return with mirth and melody ; and many a flattering
Lay was warbled forth to greet her ear, by hireling
Sycophants, whose soft-toned voices were attuned to
Courtly adulation, and in whose hearts there dwelt
No sympathy with what the tongues were uttering.
But soon the scene was changed ! And now we
Enter by the Royal gate, where all is bustle, as the
Incongruous mass are pressing to the Hall of Audience.
There, on her darling throne, in Regal pomp, the
monarch
Sat, in robes of rich magnificence. With stedfast gaze
She eyed the gathering crowd, while on each side, in
All the gewgaw glitter of their office, stood her
counsellors,
In moody silence. Oh, gracious heaven ! it was a sick-
ening
Sight, a mark the woe-worn, haggard looks of that un-
seemly
Throng ! Onward they came, to prove the perfidy of
Reckless legislation, which, like a blighting
Pestilence, had filled. with hungry ruin, wrecthedness,
And death, their humble dwellings. At length the Queen
Arose ! whose restless eye, pale cheek, and trembling lip,
Told that her thoughts were busy with the scene. Her
Heart was young and guiltless, uncorrupted by the sordid
Artifice of selfish knavery, which marked the unmoved
Features of her suite. Each generous feeling of her
Soul, in spotless purity, proclaimed that though a
Queen, she felt the ardent virtuous sympathies which
Warm a woman’s bosom ! She raised her hand, whose
Gentle motion hushed the assembly into instant silence.
Each eye was fixed upon her form, in deep intensity,
When thus the Sovereign spoke :—
Queen.
Tis well that ye have answered our
Command with prompt obedience. Now, choose
Ye one whose duty it shall be to certify if ye
Have suffered aught of injury or wrong. Let him
Advance, and fearlessly assert the truth; he shall
Have a patient hearing, be it to the praise or censure
Of the government or throne.
One moment’s consultation, and ’twas done, full in
The front of all, with steady step, an aged man
Appeared ; his form was bent with ill-requited toil,
But on his brow was writ, in many a furrowed line,
An honest Artizan. He raised his eyes, sparkling with
Conscious worth, and thus began:
Artizan.
I thank your Majesty, that ye have deigned
To listen to a poor untutored man—unskilled in all, save
What adversity hath taught; and though her salutary
lesson
She imparts with accent rude, ’tis counsel worthy of
Remembrance. I lived full three score years upon
My native soil, ’mid pain and penury, and spent my
Manhood’s strength to gain a crust of bread, which lords
And priests, with devilish ingenuity, have taxed to gorge
Their carcasses with savoury venison. Yes, they have
taxed,
With heaven-defying hand, toil’s hungry stomach, where
the
Knowing fiend now whispers the subversion of thy throne.
While indolence is fed with every luxury, the poor—the
labouring
Poor is starved—robbed of the bounty of their God by
titled
Traitors, who have squandered and abused my country’s
energies ;
Whose dark and fathomless iniquity now threatens, with
O’erwhelming sweep, to lay my native land in prostrate
ruin.
Is not the senate house, the sacred temple of my country’s
Liberties, converted to a den of thieves, where wealth
Alone is worshipped on his golden altar, sprinkled with
The tears and blood of labouring millions, wrung by the
laws,
O’er which we’ve no control, yet must obey ?
Laws made in violation and contempt of truth and
justice ;
Laws made by the few, who trample neath their feet the
Sacred precept of the Son of God, “ That ye do unto
others
As ye would they’d do to you.” And when the millions
Raise their voice tu seek redress, these Christian rulers of
The land have sent their paid avengers forth to drench
Their sabres in their blood, and fill the loathsome dungeon
With the good and brave; too virtuous to be bought—too
Fearless to be made their silent slaves !
Councillor.
He lies ! the impious varlet lies
In presence of your. majesty. If they have felt
Discomfort, ’tis but the offspring of their ignorant
Improvidence. Go work: be sober and contented with
The wise allotment of o’erruling providence.
Artizan.
Your majesty, as I shall swear at the throne
On high, I speak the truth, which yonder tyrant and
Blasphemer would confound with Heaven’s o’erflowing
mercy.
Well may’st thou shrink to own the black unholy
catalogue
Of crime which your confederacy have wrought. Bear
witness of its
Truth, ye starving millions, in your hovel homes, where
All ye hold most dear on earth are famishing.
Bear witness, Bastile bread-tax, Whiggery, with iron
heart,
And hide in everlasting shame thy hydra head,
Have not your famine laws and cruel barbarity o’erspread
The land, and made the poor man’s home worse than
The kennel for your hounds ?—Have ye not filled the poor
With anguish and despair, and goaded them to frenzied
madness ?
For ye are mighty in the deadly strife, and court the
onset of
The untaught hungry mass, to glut with carnage terrible
The despot’s ire. Stand not the people on the brink of
Insurrection ?—war’s dread archangel, with his blood-red
flag of conflagration ;
Have not your cities been in flames, lit by the Rebel or
The Spy ?—have not the sullen crowd stood by with
Cold indifference, watching the bursting flames leaping
From house to house, devouring, fierce, and terrible,
As man’s revenge ? Is this the trophy of your
Legislative fame ?—is this fulfilment of your .
Plighted faith and boasted love of liberty ; and wast
For scenes like these the people hurled from
The hateful faction, who through war and blood had
In hollow mockery of justice, answer thee,
Have ye not branded them as demagogues, lawless,
And lost to any principle of good ? But it is hard for
Poverty to prove its love of honesty and virtue,
And hard to bear the slander and the scorn of those
Whose systematic villainy hath been the fruitful
Source of all our woe. Well may’st thou blush,
Thou fawning hypocrite, arch-traitor to your country,
To your Queen, and to your God.
Queen.
Oh ! who would fill a throne, round which is thrown
Oppression’s loathsome coil of ignorance, and squalid
misery ?
O, mean and mad ambition ! for ’twill prove the monster
Whose fell grasp will strangle their unhallowed power
With death, ignoble and unpitied. But by my hopes of
Heaven, such fate shall not be mine. Ere I will
Reign the Queen of hungry slaves ! I’ll throw aside the
Irksome load of monarchy, and live and die with
Title nobler for a woman unadorned in honour—
Virtue and simplicity.
An universal burst of acclamation rose, and shook
The vaulted roof. I grew bewildered with the deafening
Shout ; the sight forsook mine eyes ; a strange sensation
Overspread my frame; and when I again looked,
Lo ! Queen and crowd were gone ! All I had
Seen and heard was but the day-dream
Of a poor man’s heart, filled with the melancholy
Contemplation of his country’s wrongs !