The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1838-12-18 00:00:00

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A VOICE FOR THE MILLION.

In the glorious light of sunset a Peasant Labourer stood,,
And look'd down on the valley in a dark and gloomy mood,
Fair shone that stately castle out to the crimson sun
As the passing halo lighteu'd its turrets one by one,
And the winds of evening rustled in its banner's gorgeous

fold,
Shaking out a sudden sparkle of purple and of gold.
In the green and stately gardens the silvery fountains shone,
And the peacock show'd its colours upon the terrace stone;
The proud and spacious pleasance—the old tree's twilight
The rEAsANT looL•'d upon them with a cold and bitter smile,
He gazed where gathering darkness fell o'er his cottage
home,
No sun-ray turned toglory its humbler walls of loam,
And he wiped from off his forehead the gather'd dews of toil—
And said, "Is this mine heritage !—a tiller of the soil !
I have as proud a spirit as our usurping lord's,
Then let us crouch no longer, our language is the sword's !
Our PATRIOT leaders tell us that all were equal horn—
From us and from our children our dearest rights are torn.
Then let them lead us onwards resistless to the fray,
Till 'all that have oppress'd us are swept like weeds away.'

That night a fiercer splendor shone o'er that ancient hall,
And a thousand voices shouted as the red flame rush'd o'er
all;
It rose to wilder clamour as the crested banner fell, .

And "Down with your oppressors !" was the Patriut's gath-
ering yell!

Morn came and there was weeping in the Peasant's lowly

cot,—
The wailing voice of women—the grief that dieth not!
Out spoke the ancient grandame with the vibil voice of years,
As the wondering children gather'd where their mother

sat in tears:
"Look out my little children where the smouldering ruins

lie,—
The smoke is black and noisome that gathers to the sky,
The dwellers in that castle have for many hundred years
Shower'd bounty o'er the valley and wiped the mourner's

tears;
Your father and your father's sires have eaten of the irbread,
The labourer's little children have by their means been fed,
Their splendour gave us all employ, the blessing of Cse poor!
For this, God gave them riches to scatter forth their store.
And thus are they rewarded !—Aye, children weep again,
The tears of the deluded shall fall like summer rain;
Your father's sins have left ye a heritage of shame—
The prison cell—the fetters—the felon's branded narae—
And hundreds more around ye are weeping now like me,
Sad wives and childless mothers who never more shall see
Their husbands, sons, and fathers, sent o'er the seas away,
And banish'd from their kindred until the judgment day !
"My curse upon the false ones, the men with words of
"Who slunk away in darkness when death and danger
came;
"They call'd to them to "draw the sword," and sat in--
silence by;
"What was to them a widow's grief, a mother's wailing cry?
"They would pass on through blood and fire to clutch the,
gather'd spoil,
"And lord it with a fiercer pride and crush us to the soil.
"They leave us now to meet our doom and say 'twas mad-
ness all—
"Yes, if we could be thus deceived, 'tis tit that we skald
fall."
Oh rise up sons of Britain, shake off the felon brand,
And sweep these masked traitors from this polluted land;
Let their names go down accursed, the beacon marks. eff
time,
To warn and save the poor man from blood and tears ;sidi
crime.
Leeds. E. S. CRAVEN.