Page:In Bohemia (1886).djvu/29

 The word remains: but the Evil now
 * Is caused, not cured, by imperial hands,—

The lightless soul and the narrow brow,
 * The servile millions in armed bands;

The sweat-wrung gold from the peasant's toil
 * Flung merrily out by the gambling lord.

Who is reckless owner of serf and soil.
 * And master of church and law and sword.

But the night has receded: the dawn like a tide
 * Creeps slow round the world, till the feet of the throne

Are lapped by the waves that shall seethe and ride
 * Where the titles are gulfed and the shields overblown.

Our Kings are the same as the Kings of old.
 * But a Man stands up where there crouched a clown;

The Evil shall die when his hand grows bold,
 * And the touch of the People is laid on the Crown!