UC-NRLF 
 
 121 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
/_THK 
 
 GATHERING 
 
 THE UNIONS^ 
 
 ED FROM THE PIONEER.) 
 
 THE AMERICAN FLAG; 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 liontfon : 
 JOHN CLEAVE, 1, SHOE LANE, 
 
 ONI! DOOR I'HOM FLI'.KT STItKETJ 
 

P R E F A C E: 
 
 THE Editor deems it necessary to state, that the only 
 alteration he has made in the article from the Pioneer, 
 is that of words to adapt it to the measure of the verse. 
 The reason of his putting it into verse, was this. In a 
 conversation, with a friend, on the merit of the article, 
 the Editor maintained that it was highly poetical in its 
 language that in fact, its greatest merit was derived 
 from its poetry. This was partially denied and the ver- 
 sification was the result the Editor now thinks that 
 the question is settled as to its poetry. His reason for 
 offering it to the public, in its present form, is, that 
 others who admired the article as much as he did him- 
 self, may have the opportunity of preserving it in a neat 
 and compact form. 
 
 Not being of sufficient length to fill a sheet, he has 
 added a few short poems which he deemed worthy of 
 preservation. 
 
 The beautiful lines on the American Flag are from an 
 American Newspaper. 
 
 The lines headed The Procession, and those on the 
 lamented death of the late Julian Hibbert, are from the 
 Guardian, and the pen of a working man. 
 
 The others it is not necessary to mention particu- 
 larly, as the Editor alone is answerable for their defects. 
 
 Upon the whole, he trusts that it will be found a 
 useful pamphlet, blending instruction with amuse- 
 ment. This has been his aim and he trusts that it will 
 not altogether fail. For however small the informa- 
 tion given it will add to the general endeavour of all 
 
 W367531 
 
j\ v PREFACE, 
 
 good men to remove the mass of ignorance which en- 
 velopes and blinds the greater portion of the people. It 
 is time that Englishmen were awakened from their 
 dreams, and told that during their slumbers villains had 
 enchained them. For how can that be called a free 
 country, where the Senate meet for the sole purpose of 
 discassing how far they may tax the nation, and on 
 what folly they may lavish the taxes they extort ? \\ ; hile 
 the foundation of a country, the people are left unpro- 
 tected from the rapacity of unprincipled men, there can 
 be no justice ; and where there is no justice, there can 
 be no real Freedom. Freedom is the protector of 
 justice. 
 
 It is ridiculous to talk to a man about the protection 
 he receives from the State, who has nothing left him, 
 but a life which is a burthen to him, to protect. And 
 when he is reduced, as all men may be, to the necessity 
 of such parish relief, as it is now endeavoured to de- 
 prive the poor of, he would be better, in a rude, than in 
 such a miscalled state of civil society. Where the rich, 
 that is the strong, get all ; and the poor, that is the 
 weak, get nothing. 
 
 The government oppress the people the people op- 
 press each other. The government to support its ex- 
 actions and uphold its iniquity, instead of protecting 
 the community, of fostering virtue by judging justly 
 between individuals make partial laws, which en- 
 courage and hold out, as it were, a premium to a small 
 portion of the community to live on the plunder of the 
 larger portion, whom they endeavour, by every mean sin 
 their power, to keep in ignorance, that being the only 
 means they have of keeping them in bondage. Vice 
 must necessarily be the result of such a state of society. 
 
THE 
 
 GATHERING OF THE UNIONS. 
 
 Yes ! 'tis a day in Britain's history 
 
 That must be long remember'd ; for labour 
 
 Ceased from her soul-oppressing toil, and walk'd 
 
 Towards the regal throne. Aye, Labour has been 
 
 As politicians gravely thought a thing 
 
 Without a soul ! a mere machine, without 
 
 Morality ! a thing of nerves and muscles, and 
 
 Devoid of intellect. But if 'twas so 
 
 Why did its footsteps shake the judgment seat ? 
 
 Or, why did warriors in breathless haste 
 
 Fly to their arms awaiting its approach ? 
 
 Its slow and heavy tread made statesmen quake ; 
 
 And as it shook its locks, ferocious scribes 
 
 Grew tremulous. Law held its jaws aghast, 
 
 And show'd its teeth, but offered not to bite. 
 
 Doubt, wonder, and suspense made many hearts 
 
 Beat fearful, and far and near an anxious 
 
 People, awaited breathless, the result. 
 
 The sun cast down her eyelids for a time, 
 
 While labour gathered up its strength, then look'd 
 
 And smiled upon its majesty and power 
 
 In full magnificence. 
 
Ah, who can tell 
 
 The mixed emotions which nerved up, and swell'd 
 Each honest heart upon that lovely morn ! 
 The crimson badge he placed upon his breast 
 Might bring to mind the streams of blood which have 
 Been shed for human liberty ; but now 
 Justice was his motive, peace his design. 
 Whatever might occur he knew full well 
 His aim was sinless and his heart was pure. 
 Group after group of labour's children 
 Marched onward to the gay green field ; Nature, 
 Ever lovely, smiled upon the faithful 
 Family : as they in thick succession 
 Rank after rank in close packed columns stood ; 
 Each fragment wond'ring at the mighty whole. 
 No pomp or pageantry raised acclamation. 
 A band of artless, honest men they stood, 
 Devoted to a just a generous cause. 
 No brawls disturbed the vast assembly. 
 No force was needed for their discipline. 
 The waving banner of each separate lodge 
 In humble grandeur, served but to mark out 
 The separate standing of each brother's place. 
 No music, save the fervent breathings of 
 Honest sympathy for one another. 
 The peaceful hum which rose to heaven, was 
 All the melody the crowd gave ear to. 
 A signal rocket whizzed on high, and told 
 The tens of thousands they must move along. 
 
 Then came the horsemen, and next the gallant 
 Leaders came. Now followed in a car the 
 Mighty scroll, which bore the heart-breathed prayers, of 
 
Countless numbers, that justice might be done 
 
 To our condemned, devoted brethren. 
 
 It was a sight for honest men to see ; 
 
 He who could witness it without emotion 
 
 Is not yet civilized. Oh, God of heaven ! 
 
 Who guideth man's progression, there surely 
 
 Is a meaning in all this which we may 
 
 Not unriddle : it may not cannot be 
 
 That Nature yieldeth more and more to man, 
 
 Yet man himself grows poorer and more poor. 
 
 And this most just and righteous prayer asks for 
 
 No more than common liberty to six 
 
 Of thy poor people, who dwell in bonds, for 
 
 Seeking to procure a meagre share of 
 
 Thy exhaustless bounty. 
 
 These thoughts arose 
 Within us as our good chaplain passed 
 In close procession, following the car ; 
 And surely it appeared to augur good, 
 It gave a purer spirit to our Union, 
 To see a minister of peace lead on 
 The friendly host. Numbers we have. And power- 
 Moral power is growing strong amongst us. 
 A little faith, to keep enthusiasm 
 Warm, will quickly follow, and then our hopes 
 Are certain of fulfilment. But we are 
 Getting serious, and that's not fitting 
 For a holyday. The worthy doctor 
 Looked exceeding well, for he came dressed in 
 Full canonicals, and wore the red badge 
 Of his doctorship, which corresponded 
 With the Union ribbon, and gave a 
 
8 
 
 Grace and comliness to him, and moral 
 Dignity to the procession. 
 
 Then came 
 
 The deputation following the car ; 
 And then the trades in long long route, which seemed 
 Interminable, their name was legion. 
 But high authorities have little taste, 
 And little relish for so vast a throng, 
 They felt annoyed at such a just request. 
 So with a high-bred courtesy, at once 
 Refused to take the bulky document 
 And scorned to listen to its just demands. 
 Unless, forsooth ! a smaller company 
 Should come and ask they could not hear. 
 
 Brothers 
 
 There is a moral to all this ! It shows 
 That power will not withdraw its foot, unless 
 We tread upon its toes. This splendid sight 
 This local exhibition of the 
 London Unions, has proved past doubt, 
 Our love of order and our peacefulness ; 
 Though we have yet to demonstrate our power. 
 'Tis fruitless to expect concession 
 From our foes they will concede no real good ; 
 All good must be extorted by compulsion. 
 And those who have a little wealth, declare 
 Hostility, and open hatred, to 
 "THE UNION OF THE WORKING CLASSES," 
 And they will play upon our artlessness. 
 But look around you brothers ! look around ! 
 Look at Derby ! Look at Oldham ! and oh 
 
9 
 
 Look everywhere and see look round and see 
 
 The persecution, and the vile attempts 
 
 To bury in despair to crush all hopes 
 
 Of bettering our lorn condition. 
 
 And can you hope to shake this wealthy, and 
 
 This cruel avaricious power this pest, 
 
 By partial strikes and petty differences ! 
 
 Or, can you hope, or wish to reconcile 
 
 The anti-interests of those poor worms 
 
 Who deem you worthless, weak, and wicked ? No ! 
 
 We have proofs manifold proofs, that they are 
 
 Ready in their hearts to pounce upon us. 
 
 The ministers of God (vile hypocrites; 
 
 Pronounce us wicked, and they fain would wean 
 
 Their flocks from Christ's own principles. For say, 
 
 Can Christianity be e'er upheld 
 
 Where traffic is the only guiding power ? 
 
 The tradesman has an empty fear that we 
 
 Combine to ruin him ; and therefore, he 
 
 With feeble arm opposes all we do. 
 
 The master fears his old authority 
 
 Will fall away, and he opposes us, 
 
 And struggles hard for his dominion. 
 
 The magistrate, half soldier-like, and half 
 
 Ecclesiastical, puffs up his mind 
 
 With notions of strict discipline, and all 
 
 The pompous circumstance of men in office. 
 
 Army and police are school'd to trample 
 
 O'er the rabble, without the trouble of 
 
 Inquiry as to how, or wherefore, 
 
 Such things are. The crown is jealous of all 
 
 Signs of insubordination, and yet 
 
 It knows no argument, save that of force, 
 
10 
 
 To prove its dignity. All arrows pierce 
 The vitals of the poor ; and venemous 
 Indeed are very many of the barbs. 
 Oh, God! what human suffering, and oh 
 What blighted hopes, what avarice and pride 
 Blind ignorance is seeking to perpetuate. 
 
 Prayer ! modesty ! conciliation ! 
 Nothing will avail us till we have nerve 
 Sufficient nerve to rest from all our toil. 
 The master-men, like harlots, court the rich, 
 And basely fawning, woo their patronage. 
 But we must tear them from the lewd embrace, 
 And keep them to their lawful bed their place 
 Of rest is industry. Brothers, they will 
 Not perceive their own best good, till by one 
 Simultaneous movement, we convince 
 Them of it. A panic must be stricken 
 In their minds before they can receive the truth. 
 The meek may call this violent, but he 
 Who wishes to eschew all violence, 
 Will see in this alone, the surest means 
 Of keeping all from anarchy the worst 
 The greatest the most reckless anarchy ! 
 Why do the great endeavour to prevent 
 The moral feeling that will now pervade 
 The bosom, and direct the heart, of all 
 And every man who lives by daily toil ? 
 Why, when appeals are made, do scornful men 
 With reckless fingers point to guns, and all 
 The dreadful instruments of cruel death 
 Why teach the people such bloody lessons 
 Of destruction ? And ye, Oh people 1 
 
11 
 
 How can your hearts conceive a ray of hope 
 While such barbarity exists ? A pause 
 A sudden simultaneous pause from 
 Work, is all the moral means we have of 
 Making them give ear to plain unvarnished 
 Reason. Brothers think well of this, and choose 
 Between the sad the last alternative 
 Of moral change, or reckless destitution. 
 The time is come if come it will for good, 
 And if not good, then evil must remain. 
 Our hope then is, that good may yet prevail. 
 
 Note. It may be necessary to mention, that the good 
 Chaplain alluded to, is the Rev. Dr. Wade, 
 
THE PROCESSION 
 
 Of the Workmen of London, to save their Dorchester 
 Brethren. 
 
 They smote we saw our brethren fall, 
 Struck by the foeman's dart ; 
 
 The blow they suffered wounded all 
 Twas felt in every heart. 
 
 Base despots ! who deal deadly words 
 
 In cunning guise of law, 
 Trust ye to jargon and to s words 
 
 Our souls to overawe ? 
 
 We rend your veil, we scorn your steel ; 
 
 We shrink not nor dissemble 
 By every burning wrong we feel, 
 
 Cold tyrants ! ye shall tremble. 
 
 We moved, a calm majestic mass, 
 
 In silence and in power, 
 And never from men's hearts shall pass 
 
 The lesson of that hour. 
 
13 
 
 In our arms that idly hung, 
 
 Slumbered strength that shall not tire 
 In our silence was a tongue 
 
 Which, though mute, spoke words of fire. 
 
 And did our foes not feel that day, 
 Howe'er they may dissemble 
 
 Did not our firm and cool array 
 Make tyrants' bosoms tremble ? 
 
 Hence, paltry threat and pity vile, 
 The froth and slime of slaves 
 
 Freedom and Right shall bless our toil. 
 Or shine upon our graves ! 
 
OLD THOUGHTS AND NEW VIEWS. 
 
 A PARODY 
 
 On Cato's celebrated Soliloquy, on Life and Death. 
 
 It must be so Owen, thou reasonest well ! 
 
 Else why when plenty reigns, this wretched woe, 
 
 This starving in the midst of plenty ? 
 
 Or why this ceaseless fear and inward horror 
 
 Of being starved to death ? Why when we think 
 
 Are we thus roused to desperation ? 
 
 'Tis th' reasoning power that stirs within us : 
 
 'Tis reason's self that tells us we are wronged, 
 
 And intimates that such things should not be. 
 
 Co-operation ! pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
 
 Through what variety of blaming tongues, 
 
 Through what abuse and censure must we pass ! 
 
 The wide, the lovely prospect lies before me, 
 
 But villains, fools, and cowards frown upon it. 
 
 Still I will on. If there's a power within us, 
 
 (And that there is, my spirit cries aloud 
 
 In all my thoughts), it must direct us right. 
 
 And if we follow that we must succeed. 
 
 But when ! or how ! This world seems fill'd with fools. 
 
 I'm weary of them all would I could end them. 
 
15 
 
 Thus am I doubly arm'd : my hopes and fears, 
 My friends and enemies, are both around me : 
 These in one moment drive me to despair, 
 But those inform me I shall still succeed. 
 My soul, secured in her integrity, smiles 
 At their anger, and defies their wrath. 
 The rogues shall be found out, the fools themselves 
 Grow slowly wise, and cowards learn to think ; 
 But we shall flourish in a social state, 
 Unhurt amidst the fall of shopkeepers, 
 The wreck of nobles, and the crush of kings. 
 
\ 
 
 THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 Ne'er waved beneath the golden sun 
 
 A lovelier Banner for the brave, 
 Than that our bleeding Fathers won, 
 
 And proudly to their Children gave : 
 Nor earth a fairer gem can bring, 
 
 Or freedom claim a brighter scroll, 
 Than that to which our free hearts cling 
 
 The flag that lights the Freeman's soul ! 
 
 Its glorious Stars in azure shine, 
 
 The radiant heraldry of heaven ; 
 Its stripes in beauteous order twine, 
 
 The emblems of our Union given. 
 And tyrants, with a trembling gaze, 
 
 Survey its bright and meteor glare ! 
 While glorious beams around it blaze, 
 
 And rest in fadeless splendour there ; 
 
 Look, Freemen ! on its streaming folds, 
 
 As gallantly they range afar ; 
 Where Freedom's Bird undaunted holds 
 
 The branch of peace, and spear and war ; 
 While high amid the rolling stars, 
 
 With words, which every heart expand, 
 Within her beak serene she bears 
 
 The badge of our United Land ! 
 
17 
 
 Behold, thy star-wrought ensign sweep, 
 
 Thy country's pride, the tyrant's bane ; 
 Unrivalled on the foaming deep, 
 
 Unconquered on the battle plain, 
 Along the exulting mountain gale 
 
 Tis borne with wild majestic flow, 
 As trailing meteors skyward sail, 
 
 And leave the dazzed world below ! 
 
 From shore to shore, from hill to hill, 
 
 Where freedom's voice hath yet been heard, 
 'Tis welcomed with a holy thrill, 
 
 And oft rebellion's flame hath stirred. 
 Around the globe, through every clime, 
 
 Where commerce wafts or man hath trod, 
 It floats aloft, unstained with crime, 
 
 But hallowed by heroic blood. 
 
 Tho' France hath crushed her Bourbon flower, 
 
 And seized the flag her valour sought, 
 She holds it as oppression's dower 
 
 A name is all the boon it brought. 
 Though Albion boast her cross of blood, 
 
 Encrimsoned on a thousand plains 
 Yet freedom's cause she hath withstood, 
 
 And marked it with redeemless stains. 
 
 But thine Columbia ! thine's the prize, 
 To cheer the free and guide the brave 
 
 To wave through earth's remotest skies, 
 And plant upon oppression's grave 
 
18 
 
 Thine is the standard freedom wrought 
 To rear above the lion's form 
 
 Whose flame the martyr'd fathers sought, 
 To cheer them through the battle's storm. 
 
 Flag of the free ; still bear thy way, 
 
 Undimm'd through ages yet untold ; 
 O'er Earth's proud realms thy star display, 
 
 Like morning's radiant clouds unrolled. 
 Flag of the skies ! still peerless shine, 
 
 Through ether's azure vault unfurled, 
 Till every heart and hand entwine, 
 
 To sweep oppression from the world ! 
 
LINES 
 
 On Reading in the Newspapers the Brief Account of 
 the Death of Julian Hibbert. 
 
 There was praise of the good from the lips of the just, 
 And, Julian ! it taught me to know thee : 
 
 To prize what we held, and to feel what we've lost, 
 And to scan the huge debt that we owe thee. 
 
 There are none could have heard with an unmoistened 
 eye 
 
 That most simple but eloquent story ; 
 The tale was of virtues so rare and so high, 
 
 That we paused to admire and deplore thee. 
 
 Oh, thine was the spirit, and thine were the deeds, 
 That told us of hope, light, and promise ; 
 
 We talked not of dogmas, we thought not of creeds, 
 We but felt what a heart had gone from us ! 
 
 And if thus in our struggle to feel as he felt 
 His own Christian example before us 
 
 With a moment's strong scorn on a reptile we dwelt, 
 Twas our nature whose weakness came o'er us ; 
 
 Twas not his! he, the tolerant spirit and wise, 
 
 Though error and wrong might beset him, 
 Felt it easier far to for give than despise, 
 
 Slaves themselves must respect and regret him ! 
 
THE EFFECTS OF SUPERSTITION. 
 
 FOUNDED ON A FACT. 
 
 In a river in Paris, a poor man was drown'd ; 
 And his body, they tell us, could never be found ; 
 His poor mother (a widow) distracted with grief, 
 Had the river twice dragg'd but none brought her 
 
 relief ! 
 
 Some friend then inform 'd her, she'd soon find her son, 
 If a candle she'd stick in a Nicholas Bun, 
 And set it afloat on the stream, in a bowl, 
 And say masses and pray for repose to his soul ; 
 That the candle and bun, in the stream still would stay 
 Just over the spot where her son's body lay. 
 
 Now this Saint Nicholas, 'tis right I should tell, 
 Was of sailors the patron, and guarded them well ; 
 All his followers say, that great wonders were done 
 By a candle alight, and a Nicholas bun ! 
 But if he fresh-waterman scorn'd to controul, 
 Or steer on a river a brown wooden bowl, 
 Or what other reason, the muse cannot say, 
 But the candle ran foul of a barge load of hay. 
 Which catching on fire, and making a blaze, 
 All the people of Paris did greatly amaze ; 
 
21 
 
 But it did not stop there the devouring ilame 
 Served thirty-four houses exactly the same ! 
 Besides shops and warehouses built on the quay ! 
 Such vast devastation not often you see ; 
 But the corpse of the young man. they never could find; 
 And his mother, poor woman, went out of her mind. 
 
 Whether Saint Nicholas, by this sad mischance, 
 Lost much of his fame with the people of France ; 
 I cannot now tell. But I think it is plain 
 With a candle, they never will trust him again ; 
 For 'tis certain this mischief had never been done 
 Had they not put such faith in a Nicholas Ban ! 
 
Written on hearing' that the hired murderers of the 
 Russian Despot had taken Warsaw. 
 
 Body-killing tyrants cannot kill 
 The public soul. T. CAMPBELL. 
 
 Has Warsaw fallen ? then now I know 
 The despots doom for us, is woe ! 
 Woe ! woe and slavery's hated power 
 Man's energies shall still devour ! 
 The millions yet must toil in pain 
 Beneath oppressions galling chain ! 
 
 Is Poland dead ? then farewell all ! 
 With thee, our hopes of freedom fall ! ' 
 No more the heart with hope respires ! 
 With thee, awhile man's cause expires ! 
 
 What ! Britons freeborn Britons see 
 The noble Poles the bold the free 
 Crush 'd by the base the hireling swords 
 Of countless rude barbarian hordes ? 
 Shame, Britons shame ! can you be proud, 
 And trumpet your own praise aloud 
 Or boast of valiant, noble deeds 
 While thus the sons of Freedom bleeds ? 
 Go, mourn in silence mourn in shame 
 Base libels on your father's fame ! 
 Nor ever dare again to say 
 That Freedom's dictates you obey ! 
 
23 
 
 Mourn ! mourn for Freedom ! for the Poles 
 Oh mourn all men of noble souls ! 
 Oh mourn for Freedom all who see 
 Barbarian slaves oppress the free ! 
 Mourn, mourn for Freedom ev'ry man 
 That hates the despots bigot plan ! 
 For Freedom mourn ! nor let a voice 
 Encourage despots to rejoice ! 
 Oh mourn for Poland ! mourn for man 
 And curse the cruel tyrant clan 
 Who trample on the people's rights 
 To pamper fools and parasites ! 
 The time shall come I do not dream 
 When Britons will their name redeem. 
 When honest virtue bold shall stand 
 And spurn the fools who blast the land. 
 When honesty is no offence ; 
 And bigotry shall yield to sense. 
 Then come oh men of England ! vow 
 That you your necks no more will bow 
 Beneath oppressions iron laws 
 That you will die in Freedom's cause. 
 Come but the time and come it must 
 When kings are humbled in the dust 
 Like bigot Charles, whose tyrant hand 
 Would banish Freedom from the land, 
 Condemned to wander o'er the earth, 
 The despots dread the wise man's mirth ! 
 Come but that time and all shall be 
 Content, and blissful harmony! 
 
 Oh noble France ! oh valiant men ! 
 How much I love thy virtue, when 
 
24 
 
 I contemplate the mighty deed 
 That bid your haughty tyrants bleed. 
 Bright Liberty has warm'd your souls; 
 Her power alone it is controuls 
 Thy energies. Oh had thy power 
 But made the Russian despot cower 
 Beneath the bold indignant stroke 
 That broke thy own base tyrants yoke, 
 And crown'd the Poles with like success 
 Each honest tongue thy name would bles* 
 
 Oh Poland ! when I think of thee 
 I mourn for Europe's Liberty ! 
 I think I see the tyrant band 
 Disgrace again my native land ; 
 And reveling in their cursed pride 
 Man's woe and misery deride. 
 
 I will not thus indulge despair, 
 And fill my heart with cank'ring care ; 
 For hope still whispers, I shall see 
 A check to barbarous tyranny. 
 When men will plainly see, and know 
 The direful cause of all their woe ; 
 And warmed with Freedom's sacred charm 
 Arrest each cruel tyrant's arm. 
 For though I mourn the victims slain 
 They shall not unaveng'd remain. 
 The sons of Freedom yet shall find 
 In spite of ev'ry art to blind 
 How they shall set the nations free 
 From tyrants and from tyranny. 
 
 Johnston, Printer, Lovell's Court, St. Pauls. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
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 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
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 ^' i 1 1958 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 General Library 
 LD 21A-50m-8,')57 University of California 
 (C8481slO)476B Berkeley