How should her seed upon thy land be curst
Till her false friends as traitors stand confest?
Doth Freedom dwell where ruthless Kings of gain,
Like stealthy vampires, still on Labour feed,
Still free—to toil or starve on plenty’s plain?
Then what of Labour’s hope—the will to be
Equal, fraternal, knowing want nor greed,
Shrined in a peoples’ heart when states are free?
June, 1886.