Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/32

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E white-maned waves of the Western Sea.
 * That ride and roll to the strand,

Ye strong-winged birds, never forced a-lee
 * By the gales that sweep toward land,

Ye are symbols of death, and of hope that saves,
 * As ye swoop in your strength and grace.

As ye roll to the land like the billowed graves
 * Of a past and puerile race.

Cry, "Presto, change!" and the lout is lord,
 * With his vulgar blood turned blue;

Go dub your knight with a slap of a sword,
 * As the kings in Europe do;

Go grade the lines of your social mode
 * As you grade the palace wall,—

The people forever to bear the load,
 * And the gilded vanes o'er all.