Page:The complete poetical works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, including materials never before printed in any edition of the poems.djvu/366

336 With a pace stately and fast, Over English land he passed. Trampling to a mire of blood The adoring multitude.

And a mighty troop around, With their trampling shook the ground, Waving each a bloody sword, For the service of their Lord.

And with glorious triumph, they Rode through England proud and gay, Drunk as with intoxication Of the wine of desolation.

O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea, Passed the Pageant swift and free, Tearing up, and trampling down; Till they came to London town.

And each dweller, panic-stricken, Felt his heart with terror sicken Hearing the tempestuous cry Of the triumph of Anarchy.

For with pomp to meet him came, Clothed in arms like blood and flame. The hired murderers, who did sing 'Thou art God, and Law, and King.

'We have waited, weak and lone For thy coming, Mighty One! Our purses are empty, our swords are cold, Give us glory, and blood, and gold.'

Lawyers and Priests, a motley crowd. To the earth their pale brows bowed; Like a bad prayer not over loud, Whispering— 'Thou art Law and God.'—

Then all cried with one accord, 'Thou art King, and God, and Lord; Anarchy, to thee we bow, Be thy name made holy now!'

And Anarchy, the Skeleton, Bowed and grinned to every one, As well as if his education Had cost ten millions to the nation.

For he knew the Palaces Of our Kings were rightly his; His the sceptre, crown, and globe, And the gold-inwoven robe.

So he sent his slaves before To seize upon the Bank and Tower, And was proceeding with intent To meet his pensioned Parliament

When one fled past, a maniac maid, And her name was Hope, she said: But she looked more like Despair, And she cried out in the air:

'My father Time is weak and gray With waiting for a better day; See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling with his palsied hands!

'He has had child after child. And the dust of death is piled Over every one but me— Misery, oh, Misery!'

Then she lay down in the street, Right before the horses' feet, Expecting, with a patient eye, Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.