Their banners and harness were costly and gay,
And proudly they flash'd in the summer sun's ray;
XI.
The hilts of their falchions were crusted with gold,
And the gems of their helmets were bright to behold,
By Saint Bride of Kildare! but they moved in fair show—
To gorge the young eagles of dark Aharlow!
THE MONOPOLISTS' LIE.
"For our own part we are not ashamed to say that we hate the word cheapness in its ordinary acceptation, because we have never seen commodities cheap, as the term is commonly applied, without the accompaniment of ruinous distress among one class or other of our countrymen; whereas we have generally seen what are denominated dear seasons, always seasons of extraordinary prosperity to the majority of the people."—Standard.
I.
How the mockery stinks in the nostrils of Heaven!
How the arrogant falsehood insults the wide earth!
To the fiends in deep hell, for a moment 'tis given,
'Mid their torment, to gibber in horrible mirth!
Oh! yes, 'tis a blessing that bread is so dear!
Yes, yes, 'tis a comfort that rent is so high!
Give the rich man his chariot, the poor man his bier;
'Tis a favor, untaxed, to be suffered to die!
II.
Crawl on, ye vile slaves! chaffer roots with the swine!
They are good enough, churls! for your under-bred maws;
Earth's treasures are skimmed, when your masters would dine,
While ye starve by their merciful, master made laws!
Toil, sweat, and make huger their huge money-bags;
Serfs, train up your daughters to batten their lust!
As they roll by in splendour, crouch, crouch in your rags!
As they loll at the banquet, pay thrice for your crust!
