{"id":170654,"date":"2020-11-09T12:00:35","date_gmt":"2020-11-09T12:00:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/?p=170654"},"modified":"2020-10-25T07:20:45","modified_gmt":"2020-10-25T07:20:45","slug":"the-mask-of-anarchy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/2020\/11\/the-mask-of-anarchy\/","title":{"rendered":"The Mask of Anarchy"},"content":{"rendered":"

Written on the occasion of the <\/em>Peterloo Massacre at Manchester on 16 Aug 1819. Cavalry soldiers charged a crowd of 60,000 citizens who were peacefully assembled to ask for better representation in Parliament and who were suffering from unemployment and famine due to the Corn Laws. The cavalry slashed down at the protesters with their sabres, including women and children. Shelley\u2019s call for nonviolent resistance to tyranny was an inspiration to Thoreau, Tolstoy and Gandhi. <\/em>
\n\u2013 <\/em>John Scales Avery<\/a><\/p>\n

**********<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

As I lay asleep in Italy
\nThere came a voice from over the Sea,
\nAnd with great power it forth led me
\nTo walk in the visions of Poesy.<\/em><\/p>\n

I met Murder on the way\u2014
\nHe had a mask like Castlereagh\u2014
\nVery smooth he looked, yet grim ;
\nSeven blood-hounds followed him :<\/p>\n

All were fat ; and well they might
\nBe in admirable plight,
\nFor one by one, and two by two,
\nHe tossed them human hearts to chew
\nWhich from his wide cloak he drew.<\/p>\n

Next came Fraud, and he had on,
\nLike Lord Eldon, an ermined gown ;
\nHis big tears, for he wept well,
\nTurned to mill-stones as they fell.<\/p>\n

And the little children, who
\nRound his feet played to and fro,
\nThinking every tear a gem,
\nHad their brains knocked out by them.<\/p>\n

Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
\nAnd the shadows of the night,
\nLike Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
\nOn a crocodile rode by.<\/p>\n

And many more Destructions played
\nIn this ghastly masquerade,
\nAll disguised, even to the eyes,
\nLike Bishops, lawyers, peers, and spies.<\/p>\n

Last came Anarchy : he rode
\nOn a white horse, splashed with blood ;
\nHe was pale even to the lips,
\nLike Death in the Apocalypse.<\/p>\n

And he wore a kingly crown ;
\nAnd in his grasp a sceptre shone ;
\nOn his brow this mark I saw\u2014
\n\u2018I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!\u2019<\/p>\n

With a pace stately and fast,
\nOver English land he passed,
\nTrampling to a mire of blood
\nThe adoring multitude.<\/p>\n

And with a mighty troop around
\nWith their trampling shook the ground,
\nWaving each a bloody sword,
\nFor the service of their Lord.<\/p>\n

And with glorious triumph they
\nRode through England proud and gay,
\nDrunk as with intoxication
\nOf the wine of desolation.<\/p>\n

O\u2019er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
\nPassed the Pageant swift and free,
\nTearing up, and trampling down ;
\nTill they came to London town.<\/p>\n

And each dweller, panic-stricken,
\nFelt his heart with terror sicken
\nHearing the tempestuous cry
\nOf the triumph of Anarchy.<\/p>\n

For from pomp to meet him came,
\nClothed in arms like blood and flame,
\nThe hired murderers, who did sing
\n\u2018Thou art God, and Law, and King.<\/p>\n

\u2018We have waited weak and lone
\nFor thy coming, Mighty One!
\nOur purses are empty, our swords are cold,
\nGive us glory, and blood, and gold.\u2019<\/p>\n

Lawyers and priests a motley crowd,
\nTo the earth their pale brows bowed ;
\nLike a bad prayer not over loud,
\nWhispering\u2014\u2018Thou art Law and God.\u2019\u2014<\/p>\n

Then all cried with one accord,
\n\u2018Thou art King, and God, and Lord ;
\nAnarchy, to thee we bow,
\nBe thy name made holy now!\u2019<\/p>\n

And Anarchy, the Skeleton,
\nBowed and grinned to every one,
\nAs well as if his education
\nHad cost ten millions to the nation.<\/p>\n

For he knew the Palaces
\nOf our Kings were rightly his ;
\nHis the sceptre, crown, and globe,
\nAnd the gold-inwoven robe.<\/p>\n

So he sent his slaves before
\nTo seize upon the Bank and Tower,
\nAnd was proceeding with intent
\nTo meet his pensioned Parliament<\/p>\n

When one fled past, a maniac maid,
\nAnd her name was Hope, she said :
\nBut she looked more like Despair,
\nAnd she cried out in the air :<\/p>\n

\u2018My father Time is weak and gray
\nWith waiting for a better day ;
\nSee how idiot-like he stands,
\nFumbling with his palsied hands!<\/p>\n

\u2018He has had child after child,
\nAnd the dust of death is piled
\nOver every one but me\u2014
\nMisery, oh, Misery!\u2019<\/p>\n

Then she lay down in the street,
\nRight before the horses feet,
\nExpecting, with a patient eye,
\nMurder, Fraud, and Anarchy.<\/p>\n

When between her and her foes
\nA mist, a light, an image rose.
\nSmall at first, and weak, and frail
\nLike the vapour of a vale :<\/p>\n

Till as clouds grow on the blast,
\nLike tower-crowned giants striding fast,
\nAnd glare with lightnings as they fly,
\nAnd speak in thunder to the sky.<\/p>\n

It grew\u2014a Shape arrayed in mail
\nBrighter than the viper\u2019s scale,
\nAnd upborne on wings whose grain
\nWas as the light of sunny rain.<\/p>\n

On its helm, seen far away,
\nA planet, like the Morning\u2019s, lay ;
\nAnd those plumes its light rained through
\nLike a shower of crimson dew.<\/p>\n

With step as soft as wind it passed
\nO\u2019er the heads of men\u2014so fast
\nThat they knew the presence there,
\nAnd looked,\u2014but all was empty air.<\/p>\n

As flowers beneath May\u2019s footstep waken,
\nAs stars from Night\u2019s loose hair are shaken,
\nAs waves arise when loud winds call,
\nThoughts sprung where\u2019er that step did fall.<\/p>\n

And the prostrate multitude
\nLooked\u2014and ankle-deep in blood,
\nHope, that maiden most serene,
\nWas walking with a quiet mien :<\/p>\n

And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
\nLay dead earth upon the earth ;
\nThe Horse of Death tameless as wind
\nFled, and with his hoofs did grind
\nTo dust the murderers thronged behind.<\/p>\n

A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
\nA sense awakening and yet tender
\nWas heard and felt\u2014and at its close
\nThese words of joy and fear arose<\/p>\n

As if their own indignant Earth
\nWhich gave the sons of England birth
\nHad felt their blood upon her brow,
\nAnd shuddering with a mother\u2019s throe<\/p>\n

Had turned every drop of blood
\nBy which her face had been bedewed
\nTo an accent unwithstood,\u2014
\nAs if her heart cried out aloud :<\/p>\n

\u2018Men of England, heirs of Glory,
\nHeroes of unwritten story,
\nNurslings of one mighty Mother,
\nHopes of her, and one another ;<\/p>\n

\u2018Rise like Lions after slumber
\nIn unvanquishable number.
\nShake your chains to earth like dew
\nWhich in sleep had fallen on you\u2014
\nYe are many\u2014they are few.<\/p>\n

\u2018What is Freedom?\u2014ye can tell
\nThat which slavery is, too well\u2014
\nFor its very name has grown
\nTo an echo of your own.<\/p>\n

\u2018\u2019Tis to work and have such pay
\nAs just keeps life from day to day
\nIn your limbs, as in a cell
\nFor the tyrants\u2019 use to dwell,<\/p>\n

\u2018So that ye for them are made
\nLoom, and plough, and sword, and spade,
\nWith or without your own will bent
\nTo their defence and nourishment.<\/p>\n

\u2018\u2019Tis to see your children weak
\nWith their mothers pine and peak,
\nWhen the winter winds are bleak,\u2014
\nThey are dying whilst I speak.<\/p>\n

\u2018\u2019Tis to hunger for such diet
\nAs the rich man in his riot
\nCasts to the fat dogs that lie
\nSurfeiting beneath his eye ;<\/p>\n

\u2018\u2019Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
\nTake from Toil a thousandfold
\nMore than e\u2019er its substance could
\nIn the tyrannies of old.<\/p>\n

\u2018Paper coin\u2014that forgery
\nOf the title-deeds, which ye
\nHold to something from the worth
\nOf the inheritance of Earth.<\/p>\n

\u2018\u2019Tis to be a slave in soul
\nAnd to hold no strong control
\nOver your own wills, but be
\nAll that others make of ye.<\/p>\n

\u2018And at length when ye complain
\nWith a murmur weak and vain
\n\u2019Tis to see the Tyrant\u2019s crew
\nRide over your wives and you\u2014
\nBlood is on the grass like dew.<\/p>\n

\u2018Then it is to feel revenge
\nFiercely thirsting to exchange
\nBlood for blood\u2014and wrong for wrong\u2014
\nDo not thus when ye are strong.<\/p>\n

\u2018Birds find rest, in narrow nest
\nWhen weary of their wing\u00e8d quest ;
\nBeasts find fare, in woody lair
\nWhen storm and snow are in the air.<\/p>\n

\u2018Horses, oxen, have a home,
\nWhen from daily toil they come ;
\nHousehold dogs, when the wind roars,
\nFind a home within warm doors.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Asses, swine, have litter spread
\nAnd with fitting food are fed ;
\nAll things have a home but one\u2014
\nThou, Oh, Englishman, hast none !<\/p>\n

\u2018This is Slavery\u2014savage men,
\nOr wild beasts within a den
\nWould endure not as ye do\u2014
\nBut such ills they never knew.<\/p>\n

\u2018What art thou, Freedom ? O ! could slaves
\nAnswer from their living graves
\nThis demand\u2014tyrants would flee
\nLike a dream\u2019s imagery :<\/p>\n

\u2018Thou are not, as impostors say,
\nA shadow soon to pass away,
\nA superstition, and a name
\nEchoing from the cave of Fame.<\/p>\n

\u2018For the labourer thou art bread,
\nAnd a comely table spread
\nFrom his daily labour come
\nIn a neat and happy home.<\/p>\n

\u2018Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
\nFor the trampled multitude\u2014
\nNo\u2014in countries that are free
\nSuch starvation cannot be
\nAs in England now we see.<\/p>\n

\u2018To the rich thou art a check,
\nWhen his foot is on the neck
\nOf his victim, thou dost make
\nThat he treads upon a snake.<\/p>\n

\u2018Thou art Justice\u2014ne\u2019er for gold
\nMay thy righteous laws be sold
\nAs laws are in England\u2014thou
\nShield\u2019st alike both high and low.<\/p>\n

\u2018Thou art Wisdom\u2014Freemen never
\nDream that God will damn for ever
\nAll who think those things untrue
\nOf which Priests make such ado.<\/p>\n

\u2018Thou art Peace\u2014never by thee
\nWould blood and treasure wasted be
\nAs tyrants wasted them, when all
\nLeagued to quench thy flame in Gaul.<\/p>\n

\u2018What if English toil and blood
\nWas poured forth, even as a flood ?
\nIt availed, Oh, Liberty.
\nTo dim, but not extinguish thee.<\/p>\n

\u2018Thou art Love\u2014the rich have kissed
\nThy feet, and like him following Christ,
\nGive their substance to the free
\nAnd through the rough world follow thee,<\/p>\n

\u2018Or turn their wealth to arms, and make
\nWar for thy belov\u00e8d sake
\nOn wealth, and war, and fraud\u2014whence they
\nDrew the power which is their prey.<\/p>\n

\u2018Science, Poetry, and Thought
\nAre thy lamps ; they make the lot
\nOf the dwellers in a cot
\nSo serene, they curse it not.<\/p>\n

\u2018Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
\nAll that can adorn and bless
\nArt thou\u2014let deeds, not words, express
\nThine exceeding loveliness.<\/p>\n

\u2018Let a great Assembly be
\nOf the fearless and the free
\nOn some spot of English ground
\nWhere the plains stretch wide around.<\/p>\n

\u2018Let the blue sky overhead,
\nThe green earth on which ye tread,
\nAll that must eternal be
\nWitness the solemnity.<\/p>\n

\u2018From the corners uttermost
\nOf the bounds of English coast ;
\nFrom every hut, village, and town
\nWhere those who live and suffer moan
\nFor others\u2019 misery or their own,<\/p>\n

\u2018From the workhouse and the prison
\nWhere pale as corpses newly risen,
\nWomen, children, young and old
\nGroan for pain, and weep for cold\u2014<\/p>\n

\u2018From the haunts of daily life
\nWhere is waged the daily strife
\nWith common wants and common cares
\nWhich sows the human heart with tares\u2014<\/p>\n

\u2018Lastly from the palaces
\nWhere the murmur of distress
\nEchoes, like the distant sound
\nOf a wind alive around<\/p>\n

\u2018Those prison halls of wealth and fashion.
\nWhere some few feel such compassion
\nFor those who groan, and toil, and wail
\nAs must make their brethren pale\u2014<\/p>\n

\u2018Ye who suffer woes untold,
\nOr to feel, or to behold
\nYour lost country bought and sold
\nWith a price of blood and gold\u2014<\/p>\n

\u2018Let a vast assembly be,
\nAnd with great solemnity
\nDeclare with measured words that ye
\nAre, as God has made ye, free\u2014<\/p>\n

\u2018Be your strong and simple words
\nKeen to wound as sharpened swords,
\nAnd wide as targes let them be,
\nWith their shade to cover ye.<\/p>\n

\u2018Let the tyrants pour around
\nWith a quick and startling sound,
\nLike the loosening of a sea,
\nTroops of armed emblazonry.<\/p>\n

\u2018Let the charged artillery drive
\nTill the dead air seems alive
\nWith the clash of clanging wheels,
\nAnd the tramp of horses\u2019 heels.<\/p>\n

\u2018Let the fix\u00e8d bayonet
\nGleam with sharp desire to wet
\nIts bright point in English blood
\nLooking keen as one for food.<\/p>\n

\u2018Let the horsemen\u2019s scimitars
\nWheel and flash, like sphereless stars
\nThirsting to eclipse their burning
\nIn a sea of death and mourning.<\/p>\n

\u2018Stand ye calm and resolute,
\nLike a forest close and mute,
\nWith folded arms and looks which are
\nWeapons of unvanquished war,<\/p>\n

\u2018And let Panic, who outspeeds
\nThe career of arm\u00e8d steeds
\nPass, a disregarded shade
\nThrough your phalanx undismayed.<\/p>\n

\u2018Let the laws of your own land,
\nGood or ill, between ye stand
\nHand to hand, and foot to foot,
\nArbiters of the dispute,<\/p>\n

\u2018The old laws of England\u2014they
\nWhose reverend heads with age are gray,
\nChildren of a wiser day ;
\nAnd whose solemn voice must be
\nThine own echo\u2014Liberty !<\/p>\n

\u2018On those who first should violate
\nSuch sacred heralds in their state
\nRest the blood that must ensue,
\nAnd it will not rest on you.<\/p>\n

\u2018And if then the tyrants dare
\nLet them ride among you there,
\nSlash, and stab, and maim, and hew, \u2014
\nWhat they like, that let them do.<\/p>\n

\u2018With folded arms and steady eyes,
\nAnd little fear, and less surprise,
\nLook upon them as they slay
\nTill their rage has died away.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Then they will return with shame
\nTo the place from which they came,
\nAnd the blood thus shed will speak
\nIn hot blushes on their cheek.<\/p>\n

\u2018Every woman in the land
\nWill point at them as they stand\u2014
\nThey will hardly dare to greet
\nTheir acquaintance in the street.<\/p>\n

\u2018And the bold, true warriors
\nWho have hugged Danger in wars
\nWill turn to those who would be free,
\nAshamed of such base company.<\/p>\n

\u2018And that slaughter to the Nation
\nShall steam up like inspiration,
\nEloquent, oracular ;
\nA volcano heard afar.<\/p>\n

\u2018And these words shall then become
\nLike Oppression\u2019s thundered doom
\nRinging through each heart and brain.
\nHeard again\u2014again\u2014again\u2014<\/p>\n

\u2018Rise like Lions after slumber
\nIn unvanquishable number\u2014
\nShake your chains to earth like dew
\nWhich in sleep had fallen on you\u2014
\nYe are many\u2014they are few.\u2019<\/p>\n

_______________________________________________<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/em>Percy Bysshe Shelley was one of the major English Romantic poets, and is regarded by some as among the finest lyric, as well as most influential, poets in the English language.<\/em> Shelley\u2019s poems advocating nonviolent resistance to tyranny were an inspiration to Thoreau, Tolstoy and Gandhi.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Written on the occasion of the Peterloo Massacre at Manchester, 1819. Cavalry soldiers slashed down at a crowd of 60,000 citizens with their sabres, including women and children who were peacefully assembled to ask for better representation in Parliament and were suffering from unemployment and famine due to the Corn Laws. Shelley\u2019s call for nonviolent resistance to tyranny was an inspiration to Thoreau, Tolstoy and Gandhi.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":96936,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[182],"tags":[260,1177,715,444,1243,2202,868,639],"class_list":["post-170654","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry-format","tag-history","tag-inspirational","tag-massacre","tag-nonviolence","tag-nonviolent-action","tag-percy-bysshe-shelley","tag-poetry","tag-uk"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/170654","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=170654"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/170654\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/96936"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=170654"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=170654"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=170654"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}