Page:A midsummer holiday and other poems (IA midsummerholiday00swin).pdf/173

 Let the gold and the land they inherit Pass ever from hand into hand: In right of the forefather's merit Let the gold be the son's, and the land. Soft raiment, rich payment, High place, the state affords; Full measure of pleasure; But now no more, my lords.

Is the future beleaguered with dangers If the poor be far other than slaves? Shall the sons of the land be as strangers In the land of their forefathers' graves? Shame were it to bear it, And shame it were to see: If free men you be, men, Let proof proclaim you free.