Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/131

Rh Virtue palters; Right is hence;

Freedom praised, but hid;

Funeral eloquence

Rattles the coffin-lid.

What boots thy zeal,

O glowing friend,

That would indignant rend

The northland from the south?

Wherefore? to what good end?

Boston Bay and Bunker Hill

Would serve things still;—

Things are of the snake.

The horseman serves the horse,

The neatherd serves the neat,

The merchant serves the purse,

The eater serves his meat;

'Tis the day of the chattel,

Web to weave, and corn to grind;

Things are in the saddle,

And ride mankind.