@3Raving war, begot In the thirsty sands Of the Libyan Isles, Wastes our empty fields; What the greedy rage Of fell wintry storms Could not turn to spoil, Fierce Bellona now Hath laid desolate, Void of fruit, or hope. Th' eager thrifty hind, Whose rude toil revived Our sky-blasted earth, Himself is but earth, Left a scorn to fate Through seditious arms: And that soil, alive Which he duly nurst, Which him duly fed, Dead his body feeds: Yet not all the glebe His tough hands manured Now one turf affords His poor funeral. Thus still needy lives, Thus still needy dies Th' unknown multitude.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE VALE by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD II PETER II 22 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 12 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT AVELINGLAS by GORDON BOTTOMLEY MIDSUMMER by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON by ROBERT BURNS TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. ELDER SOLDIER IN BROTHERHOOD TO THE YOUNGER by EDWARD CARPENTER |