KING CHOLERA'S PROCESSION.
From Russian steppe, from Persian sand,
From pine-fringed Norway fiord,
From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strand
I've skimmed the sea—I've swept the land—
Way for your lord!
Come deck my board—prepare my bed,
And let the trump of doom
Peal out a march, that as I tread
Above the dying and the dead
All may make room!
From far I snuff the odour sweet
That I do love the best;
And wheresoe'er I set my feet,
Courtiers and liegemen flock to greet
Their King confest.
Well have you done your loyal part,
My subjects and my slaves—
In town and country, port and mart,
All's ready—after my own heart—
All—to the graves!
What is my feast? These babes forpined;—
Men ere their prime made old;—
These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind—
These herds of unsexed woman-kind
Foul-mouthed and bold—
These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, seared
With the malaria's breath;
In fœtid dens and workshops reared;
From reeking sewers, drains uncleared,
Drinking in death.
What is my court? These cellars piled
With filth of many a year—
These rooms with rotting damps defiled—
These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled,
Darkling and drear!
These streets along the river's bank,
Below the rise of tide;
These hovels, set in stifling rank,
Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank—
These cess-pools wide.
These yards, whose heaps of dust and bone
Breathe poison all around;
These styes, whose swinish tenants grown
Half human, with their masters own
A common ground.
What are my perfumes? Stink and stench
From slaughter-house and sewer;
The oozing gas from opened trench,
The effluvia of the pools that drench
Court-yards impure.
What is my music? Hard-wrung groans
From strong men stricken down:
Women's and children's feebler moans,
And the slow death-bell's muffled tones
In every town.
Who are my lieges? Those that rule
In Vestry and at Board;
The Town-hall's glib and giddy fool,
The mob's most abject slave and tool
Though called its lord.
He who with prate of Vested Rights
Old forms of wrong defends;
Who for pound-foolishness still fights,
Wisdom, save penny-wisdom, slights;—
These are my friends.