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 The Mask of Anarchy

(English poet of nature and human liberty, 1792-1822, whose whole life was a cry for beauty and freedom. He died in obloquy and neglect, and today is known as "the Poets' Poet")

Men of England, Heirs of Glory, Heroes of unwritten story, Nurslings of one mighty mother, Hopes of her, and one another!

Rise, like lions after slumber, In unvanquishable number, Shake your chains to earth like dew, Which in sleep had fall'n on you. Ye are many, they are few.

What is Freedom! Ye can tell That which Slavery is too well, For its very name has grown To an echo of your own.

'Tis to work, and have such pay As just keeps life from day to day In your limbs as in a cell For the tyrants' use to dwell:

So that ye for them are made, Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade; With or without your own will, bent To their defence and nourishment.