Ebenezer Elliott Poems

In these days, every mother's son or daughter
Writes verse, which no one reads except the writer,
Although, uninked, the paper would be whiter,
...

STOP mortal ! Here thy brother lies,
The Poet of the Poor ;
His books were rivers, woods and skies,
The meadow and the moor
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Dark, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows.
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When wilt Thou save the people?
O God of mercy! when?
Not kings and lords, but nations!
Not thrones and crowns, but men!
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Spring, summer, autumn, winter,
Come duly, as of old;
Winds blow, suns set, and morning saith,
'Ye hills, put on your gold.'
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'God made all nations of one blood,'
And bade the nation-wedding flood
Bear good for good to men:
Lo, interchange is happiness! -
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Sweet village! where my early days were pass'd,
Though parted long, we meet, we meet at last!
Like friends, imbrown'd by many a sun and wind,
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Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!
So put thou forth thy small white rose;
I love it for his sake.
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The lightning, like an Arab, cross'd
The moon's dark path on high,
And wild on Rivelin writhed and toss'd
The stars and troubled sky,
...