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diff --git a/old/chnts10.txt b/old/chnts10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..062cbd6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/chnts10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1032 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext Chants for Socialists, by William Morris +#7 in our series by William Morris + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced from the 1915 Longmans, Green and Company edition +by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +CHANTS FOR SOCIALISTS + +by William Morris + + + + +Contents: + +Chants for Socialists + The Day is Coming + The Voice of Toil + No Master + All for the Cause + The March of the Workers + Down Among the Dead Men +A Death Song +May Day [1892] +May Day, 1894 +The Message of the March Wind + + + +THE DAY IS COMING + + + +Come hither, lads, and hearken, for a tale there is to tell, +Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all shall be better than well. + +And the tale shall be told of a country, a land in the midst of the sea, +And folk shall call it England in the days that are going to be. + +There more than one in a thousand in the days that are yet to come +Shall have some hope of the morrow, some joy of the ancient home. + +For then--laugh not, but listen to this strange tale of mine - +All folk that are in England shall be better lodged than swine. + +Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his +hand, +Nor yet come home in the even too faint and weary to stand. + +Men in that time a-coming shall work and have no fear +For to-morrow's lack of earning and the hunger-wolf anear. + +I tell you this for a wonder, that no man then shall be glad +Of his fellow's fall and mishap to snatch at the work he had. + +For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, +Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed. + +O strange new wonderful justice! But for whom shall we gather the gain? +For ourselves and for each of our fellows, and no hand shall labour in +vain. + +Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall any man +crave +For riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a slave. + +And what wealth then shall be left us when none shall gather gold +To buy his friend in the market, and pinch and pine the sold? + +Nay, what save the lovely city, and the little house on the hill, +And the wastes and the woodland beauty, and the happy fields we till; + +And the homes of ancient stories, the tombs of the mighty dead; +And the wise men seeking out marvels, and the poet's teeming head; + +And the painter's hand of wonder; and the marvellous fiddle-bow, +And the banded choirs of music: all those that do and know. + +For all these shall be ours and all men's, nor shall any lack a share +Of the toil and the gain of living in the days when the world grows fair. + + +Ah! such are the days that shall be! But what are the deeds of to-day, +In the days of the years we dwell in, that wear our lives away? + +Why, then, and for what are we waiting? There are three words to speak: +WE WILL IT, and what is the foeman but the dream-strong wakened and weak? + +O why and for what are we waiting? While our brothers droop and die, +And on every wind of the heavens a wasted life goes by. + +How long shall they reproach us where crowd on crowd they dwell, +Poor ghosts of the wicked city, the gold-crushed hungry hell? + +Through squalid life they laboured, in sordid grief they died, +Those sons of a mighty mother, those props of England's pride. + +They are gone; there is none can undo it, nor save our souls from the +curse; +But many a million cometh, and shall they be better or worse? + +It is we must answer and hasten, and open wide the door +For the rich man's hurrying terror, and the slow-foot hope of the poor. + +Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched, and their unlearned discontent, +We must give it voice and wisdom till the waiting-tide be spent. + +Come, then, since all things call us, the living and the dead, +And o'er the weltering tangle a glimmering light is shed. + + +Come, then, let us cast off fooling, and put by ease and rest, +For the CAUSE alone is worthy till the good days bring the best. + +Come, join in the only battle wherein no man can fail, +Where whoso fadeth and dieth, yet his deed shall still prevail. + +Ah! come, cast off all fooling, for this, at least, we know: +That the Dawn and the Day is coming, and forth the Banners go. + + + +THE VOICE OF TOIL + + + +I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying, + All days shall be as all have been; +To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow, + The never-ending toil between. + +When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger, + In hope we strove, and our hands were strong; +Then great men led us, with words they fed us, + And bade us right the earthly wrong. + +Go read in story their deeds and glory, + Their names amidst the nameless dead; +Turn then from lying to us slow-dying + In that good world to which they led; + +Where fast and faster our iron master, + The thing we made, for ever drives, +Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure + For other hopes and other lives. + +Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel, + Forgetting that the world is fair; +Where no babe we cherish, lest its very soul perish; + Where our mirth is crime, our love a snare. + +Who now shall lead us, what god shall heed us + As we lie in the hell our hands have won? +For us are no rulers but fools and befoolers, + The great are fallen, the wise men gone. + + +I heard men saying, Leave tears and praying, + The sharp knife heedeth not the sheep; +Are we not stronger than the rich and the wronger, + When day breaks over dreams and sleep? + +Come, shoulder to shoulder ere the world grows older! + Help lies in nought but thee and me; +Hope is before us, the long years that bore us + Bore leaders more than men may be. + +Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry, + And trembling nurse their dreams of mirth, +While we the living our lives are giving + To bring the bright new world to birth. + +Come, shoulder to shoulder ere earth grows older + The Cause spreads over land and sea; +Now the world shaketh, and fear awaketh + And joy at last for thee and me. + + + +NO MASTER + + + +Saith man to man, We've heard and known + That we no master need +To live upon this earth, our own, + In fair and manly deed. +The grief of slaves long passed away + For us hath forged the chain, +Till now each worker's patient day + Builds up the House of Pain. + +And we, shall we too, crouch and quail, + Ashamed, afraid of strife, +And lest our lives untimely fail + Embrace the Death in Life? +Nay, cry aloud, and have no fear, + We few against the world; +Awake, arise! the hope we bear + Against the curse is hurled. + +It grows and grows--are we the same, + The feeble band, the few? +Or what are these with eyes aflame, + And hands to deal and do? +This is the host that bears the word, + No MASTER HIGH OR LOW - +A lightning flame, a shearing sword, + A storm to overthrow. + + + +ALL FOR THE CAUSE + + + +Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh, +When the Cause shall call upon us, some to live, and some to die! + +He that dies shall not die lonely, many an one hath gone before; +He that lives shall bear no burden heavier than the life they bore. + +Nothing ancient is their story, e'en but yesterday they bled, +Youngest they of earth's beloved, last of all the valiant dead. + +E'en the tidings we are telling was the tale they had to tell, +E'en the hope that our hearts cherish, was the hope for which they fell. + +In the grave where tyrants thrust them, lies their labour and their pain, +But undying from their sorrow springeth up the hope again. + +Mourn not therefore, nor lament it, that the world outlives their life; +Voice and vision yet they give us, making strong our hands for strife. + +Some had name, and fame, and honour, learn'd they were, and wise and +strong; +Some were nameless, poor, unlettered, weak in all but grief and wrong. + +Named and nameless all live in us; one and all they lead us yet +Every pain to count for nothing, every sorrow to forget. + +Hearken how they cry, "O happy, happy ye that ye were born +In the sad slow night's departing, in the rising of the morn. + +"Fair the crown the Cause hath for you, well to die or well to live +Through the battle, through the tangle, peace to gain or peace to give." + +Ah, it may be! Oft meseemeth, in the days that yet shall be, +When no slave of gold abideth 'twixt the breadth of sea to sea, + +Oft, when men and maids are merry, ere the sunlight leaves the earth, +And they bless the day beloved, all too short for all their mirth, + +Some shall pause awhile and ponder on the bitter days of old, +Ere the toil of strife and battle overthrew the curse of gold; + +Then 'twixt lips of loved and lover solemn thoughts of us shall rise; +We who once were fools and dreamers, then shall be the brave and wise. + +There amidst the world new-builded shall our earthly deeds abide, +Though our names be all forgotten, and the tale of how we died. + +Life or death then, who shall heed it, what we gain or what we lose? +Fair flies life amid the struggle, and the Cause for each shall choose. + +Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh, +When the Cause shall call upon us, some to live, and some to die! + + + +THE MARCH OF THE WORKERS + + + +What is this, the sound and rumour? What is this that all men hear, +Like the wind in hollow valleys when the storm is drawing near, +Like the rolling on of ocean in the eventide of fear? + 'Tis the people marching on. + +Whither go they, and whence come they? What are these of whom ye tell? +In what country are they dwelling 'twixt the gates of heaven and hell? +Are they mine or thine for money? Will they serve a master well? + Still the rumour's marching on. + + Hark the rolling of the thunder! + Lo the sun! and lo thereunder + Riseth wrath, and hope, and wonder, + And the host comes marching on. + +Forth they come from grief and torment; on they wend toward health and +mirth, +All the wide world is their dwelling, every corner of the earth. +Buy them, sell them for thy service! Try the bargain what 'tis worth, + For the days are marching on. + +These are they who build thy houses, weave thy raiment, win thy wheat, +Smooth the rugged, fill the barren, turn the bitter into sweet, +All for thee this day--and ever. What reward for them is meet + Till the host comes marching on? + + Hark the rolling of the thunder! + Lo the sun! and lo thereunder + Riseth wrath, and hope, and wonder, + And the host comes marching on. + +Many a hundred years passed over have they laboured deaf and blind; +Never tidings reached their sorrow, never hope their toil might find. +Now at last they've heard and hear it, and the cry comes down the wind, + And their feet are marching on. + +O ye rich men hear and tremble! for with words the sound is rife: +"Once for you and death we laboured; changed henceforward is the strife. +We are men, and we shall battle for the world of men and life; + And our host is marching on." + + Hark the rolling of the thunder! + Lo the sun! and lo thereunder + Riseth wrath, and hope, and wonder, + And the host comes marching on. + +"Is it war, then? Will ye perish as the dry wood in the fire? +Is it peace? Then be ye of us, let your hope be our desire. +Come and live! for life awaketh, and the world shall never tire; + And hope is marching on. + +"On we march then, we the workers, and the rumour that ye hear +Is the blended sound of battle and deliv'rance drawing near; +For the hope of every creature is the banner that we bear, + And the world is marching on." + + Hark the rolling of the thunder! + Lo the sun! and lo thereunder + Riseth wrath, and hope, and wonder, + And the host comes marching on. + + + +DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN + + + +Come, comrades, come, your glasses clink; +Up with your hands a health to drink, +The health of all that workers be, +In every land, on every sea. + And he that will this health deny, + Down among the dead men, down among the dead men, + Down, down, down, down, + Down among the dead men let him lie! + +Well done! now drink another toast, +And pledge the gath'ring of the host, +The people armed in brain and hand, +To claim their rights in every land. + And he that will this health deny, + Down among the dead men, down among the dead men, + Down, down, down, down, + Down among the dead men let him lie! + +There's liquor left; come, let's be kind, +And drink the rich a better mind, +That when we knock upon the door, +They may be off and say no more. + And he that will this health deny, + Down among the dead men, down among the dead men, + Down, down, down, down, + Down among the dead men let him lie! + +Now, comrades, let the glass blush red, +Drink we the unforgotten dead +That did their deeds and went away, +Before the bright sun brought the day. + And he that will this health deny, + Down among the dead men, down among the dead men, + Down, down, down, down, + Down among the dead men let him lie! + +The Day? Ah, friends, late grows the night; +Drink to the glimmering spark of light, +The herald of the joy to be, +The battle-torch of thee and me! + And he that will this health deny, + Down among the dead men, down among the dead men, + Down, down, down, down, + Down among the dead men let him lie! + +Take yet another cup in hand +And drink in hope our little band; +Drink strife in hope while lasteth breath, +And brotherhood in life and death; + And he that will this health deny, + Down among the dead men, down among the dead men, + Down, down, down, down, + Down among the dead men let him lie! + + + +A DEATH SONG + + + +What cometh here from west to east awending? +And who are these, the marchers stern and slow? +We bear the message that the rich are sending +Aback to those who bade them wake and know. +Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, +But one and all if they would dusk the day. + +We asked them for a life of toilsome earning, +They bade us bide their leisure for our bread; +We craved to speak to tell our woeful learning: +We come back speechless, bearing back our dead. +Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, +But one and all if they would dusk the day. + +They will not learn; they have no ears to hearken. +They turn their faces from the eyes of fate; +Their gay-lit halls shut out the skies that darken. +But, lo! this dead man knocking at the gate. +Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, +But one and all if they would dusk the day. + +Here lies the sign that we shall break our prison; +Amidst the storm he won a prisoner's rest; +But in the cloudy dawn the sun arisen +Brings us our day of work to win the best. +Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, +But one and all if they would dusk the day. + + + +MAY DAY [1892] + + + +THE WORKERS. + +O Earth, once again cometh Spring to deliver + Thy winter-worn heart, O thou friend of the Sun; +Fair blossom the meadows from river to river + And the birds sing their triumph o'er winter undone. + +O Earth, how a-toiling thou singest thy labour + And upholdest the flower-crowned cup of thy bliss, +As when in the feast-tide drinks neighbour to neighbour + And all words are gleeful, and nought is amiss. + +But we, we, O Mother, through long generations, + We have toiled and been fruitful, but never with thee +Might we raise up our bowed heads and cry to the nations + To look on our beauty, and hearken our glee. + +Unlovely of aspect, heart-sick and a-weary + On the season's fair pageant all dim-eyed we gaze; +Of thy fairness we fashion a prison-house dreary + And in sorrow wear over each day of our days. + +THE EARTH. + +O children! O toilers, what foemen beleaguer + The House I have built you, the Home I have won? +Full great are my gifts, and my hands are all eager + To fill every heart with the deeds I have done. + +THE WORKERS. + +The foemen are born of thy body, O Mother, + In our shape are they shapen, their voice is the same; +And the thought of their hearts is as ours and no other; + It is they of our own house that bring us to shame. + +THE EARTH. + +Are ye few? Are they many? What words have ye spoken + To bid your own brethren remember the Earth? +What deeds have ye done that the bonds should be broken, + And men dwell together in good-will and mirth? + +THE WORKERS. + +They are few, we are many: and yet, O our Mother, + Many years were we wordless and nought was our deed, +But now the word flitteth from brother to brother: + We have furrowed the acres and scattered the seed. + +THE EARTH. + +Win on then unyielding, through fair and foul weather, + And pass not a day that your deed shall avail. +And in hope every spring-tide come gather together + That unto the Earth ye may tell all your tale. + +Then this shall I promise, that I am abiding + The day of your triumph, the ending of gloom, +And no wealth that ye will then my hand shall be hiding + And the tears of the spring into roses shall bloom. + + + +MAY DAY, 1894 + + + +Clad is the year in all her best, + The land is sweet and sheen; +Now Spring with Summer at her breast, + Goes down the meadows green. + +Here are we met to welcome in + The young abounding year, +To praise what she would have us win + Ere winter draweth near. + +For surely all is not in vain, + This gallant show she brings; +But seal of hope and sign of gain, + Beareth this Spring of springs. + +No longer now the seasons wear + Dull, without any tale +Of how the chain the toilers bear + Is growing thin and frail. + +But hope of plenty and goodwill + Flies forth from land to land, +Nor any now the voice can still + That crieth on the hand. + +A little while shall Spring come back + And find the Ancient Home +Yet marred by foolish waste and lack, + And most enthralled by some. + +A little while, and then at last + Shall the greetings of the year +Be blent with wonder of the past + And all the griefs that were. + +A little while, and they that meet + The living year to praise, +Shall be to them as music sweet + That grief of bye-gone days. + +So be we merry to our best, + Now the land is sweet and sheen, +And Spring with Summer at her breast + Goes down the meadows green. + + + + +THE MESSAGE OF THE MARCH WIND {1} + + + +Fair now is the springtide, now earth lies beholding + With the eyes of a lover the face of the sun; +Long lasteth the daylight, and hope is enfolding + The green-growing acres with increase begun. + +Now sweet, sweet it is through the land to be straying + Mid the birds and the blossoms and the beasts of the field; +Love mingles with love, and no evil is weighing + On thy heart or mine, where all sorrow is healed. + +From township to township, o'er down and by tillage + Far, far have we wandered and long was the day, +But now cometh eve at the end of the village, + Where over the grey wall the church riseth grey. + +There is wind in the twilight; in the white road before us + The straw from the ox-yard is blowing about; +The moon's rim is rising, a star glitters o'er us, + And the vane on the spire-top is swinging in doubt. + +Down there dips the highway, toward the bridge crossing over + The brook that runs on to the Thames and the sea. +Draw closer, my sweet, we are lover and lover; + This eve art thou given to gladness and me. + +Shall we be glad always? Come closer and hearken: + Three fields further on, as they told me down there, +When the young moon has set, if the March sky should darken, + We might see from the hill-top the great city's glare. + +Hark, the wind in the elm-boughs! From London it bloweth, + And telling of gold, and of hope and unrest; +Of power that helps not; of wisdom that knoweth, + But teacheth not aught of the worst and the best. + +Of the rich men it telleth, and strange is the story + How they have, and they hanker, and grip far and wide; +And they live and they die, and the earth and its glory + Has been but a burden they scarce might abide. + +Hark! the March wind again of a people is telling; + Of the life that they live there, so haggard and grim, +That if we and our love amidst them had been dwelling + My fondness had faltered, thy beauty grown dim. + +This land we have loved in our love and our leisure + For them hangs in heaven, high out of their reach; +The wide hills o'er the sea-plain for them have no pleasure, + The grey homes of their fathers no story to teach. + +The singers have sung and the builders have builded, + The painters have fashioned their tales of delight; +For what and for whom hath the world's book been gilded, + When all is for these but the blackness of night? + +How long and for what is their patience abiding? + How oft and how oft shall their story be told, +While the hope that none seeketh in darkness is hiding + And in grief and in sorrow the world groweth old? + + +Come back to the inn, love, and the lights and the fire, + And the fiddler's old tune and the shuffling of feet; +For there in a while shall be rest and desire, + And there shall the morrow's uprising be sweet. + +Yet, love, as we wend the wind bloweth behind us + And beareth the last tale it telleth to-night, +How here in the spring-tide the message shall find us; + For the hope that none seeketh is coming to light. + +Like the seed of midwinter, unheeded, unperished, + Like the autumn-sown wheat 'neath the snow lying green, +Like the love that o'ertook us, unawares and uncherished, + Like the babe 'neath thy girdle that groweth unseen, + +So the hope of the people now buddeth and groweth - + Rest fadeth before it, and blindness and fear; +It biddeth us learn all the wisdom it knoweth; + It hath found us and held us, and biddeth us hear: + +For it beareth the message: "Rise up on the morrow + And go on your ways toward the doubt and the strife; +Join hope to our hope and blend sorrow with sorrow, + And seek for men's love in the short days of life." + +But lo, the old inn, and the lights and the fire, + And the fiddler's old tune and the shuffling of feet; +Soon for us shall be quiet and rest and desire, + And to-morrow's uprising to deeds shall be sweet. + + + +Footnotes + +{1} After consulting various sources it is not clear as to whether "The +Message of the March Wind" was originally published with "Chants for +Socialists". Chants for Socialists consists of poems that Morris wrote +for various occasions and which were collected together and published by +the Socialist League in 1885. If any reader has access to the original +Chants I (David Price) would be very glad if you could clear up the +uncertainty on the exact contents.--David Price + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext Chants for Socialists, by William Morris + diff --git a/old/chnts10.zip b/old/chnts10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2af7eb3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/chnts10.zip |