. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . ine,When only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie ;Peace in her vineyard — yes ! — but a company forges the wine. A 3fo>iodra)na. And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffians head,Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife,And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for the spirit of murder works in the very means of life, And Sleep must lie down armd, for the villainouscentre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moon-less nights. While another is cheating the sick of a few lastgasps
. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . ine,When only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie ;Peace in her vineyard — yes ! — but a company forges the wine. A 3fo>iodra)na. And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffians head,Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife,And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for the spirit of murder works in the very means of life, And Sleep must lie down armd, for the villainouscentre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moon-less nights. While another is cheating the sick of a few lastgasps, as he sits To pestle a poisond poison behind his crimsonlights. When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee,And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of childrens it peace or war ? better, war ! loud war by land and by sea,War with a thousand battles, and shaking a hundred thrones. Maud: For I trust it an enemys fleet came yonder roundby the hill, And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the FOR I TRUST IF AN ENEMYS FLEET CAME YONDER ROUNDBY THE HILL. That the smooth-faced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till,And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating yardwand, home. A Monodratna. What! am I raging alone as my father raged in hismood ? Must / too creep to the hollow and dash myselfdown and die Rather than hold by the law that I made, nevermoreto brood On a horror of shatterd limbs and a wretched swin-dlers lie ? Would theie be sorrow for iiic? there was love in the passionate shriek,l/ove for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave —Wrapt in a cloak as I saw him, and thought he would rise and speakAnd rave at the lie and the liar, ah God, as he used to rave. I am sick of the Hall and the hill, I am sick of the moor and the should I stay ? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here ?O, having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain,Were it not wise if I fled from the p
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