Utopia of Usurers and Other Essays/A Song of Swords
A SONG OF SWORDS
"A drove of cattle came into a village called Swords;
and was stopped by the rioters."—Daily Paper.
In the place called Swords on the Irish roadIt is told for a new renownHow we held the horns of the cattle, and howWe will hold the horns of the devils nowEre the lord of hell with the horn on his browIs crowned in Dublin town.
Light in the East and light in the West,And light on the cruel lords,On the souls that suddenly all men knew,And the green flag flew and the red flag flew,And many a wheel of the world stopped, too,When the cattle were stopped at Swords.
Be they sinners or less than saintsThat smite in the street for rage,We know where the shame shines bright; we knowYou that they smite at, you their foe,Lords of the lawless wage and low,This is your lawful wage.
You pinched a child to a torture priceThat you dared not name in words;So black a jest was the silver bitThat your own speech shook for the shame of it,And the coward was plain as a cow they hitWhen the cattle have strayed at Swords.
The wheel of the torrent of wives went roundTo break men's brotherhood;You gave the good Irish blood to greaseThe clubs of your country's enemies;You saw the brave man beat to the kneesAnd you saw that it was good.
The rope of the rich is long and long—The longest of hangmen's cords;But the kings and crowds are holding their breath,In a giant shadow o'er all beneathWhere God stands holding the scales of DeathBetween the cattle and Swords.
Haply the lords that hire and lendThe lowest of all men's lords,Who sell their kind like kine at a fair,Will find no head of their cattle there;But faces of men where cattle wereFaces of men—and Swords.