No More Learning

See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm,
Farmers of war, dictators of the farm;
_Their_ ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands,
_Their_ fields manured by gore of other lands;
Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent
Their brethren out to battle--why? for rent!
Year after year they voted cent. per cent. 620
Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions--why? --for rent!
They roared, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant
To die for England--why then live? --for rent!
The peace has made one general malcontent
Of these high-market patriots; war was rent!
Their love of country, millions all mis-spent,
How reconcile? by reconciling rent!
And will they not repay the treasures lent?
No: down with everything, and up with rent!
Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent, 630
Being, end, aim, religion--_rent_--_rent_--_rent_!
Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau!
for a mess;
Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less;
Now thou hast swilled thy pottage, thy demands
Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands.
Such, landlords! was your appetite for war,
And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar!
What! would they spread their earthquake even o'er cash?
And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash? [335]
So rent may rise, bid Bank and Nation fall, 640
And found on 'Change a _Fundling_ Hospital?
Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes,
Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring--Tithes;[336]
The Prelates go to--where the Saints have gone,
And proud pluralities subside to one;
Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark,
Tossed by the deluge in their common ark.
Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends,
Another Babel soars--but Britain ends.
And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants, 650
And prop the hill of these agrarian ants.
"Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;"
Admire their patience through each sacrifice,
Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride,
The price of taxes and of homicide;
Admire their justice, which would fain deny
The debt of nations:--pray _who made it high? _[337]



XV.

Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks,
The new Symplegades[338]--the crushing Stocks,
Where Midas might again his wish behold 660
In real paper or imagined gold.
That magic palace of Alcina[339] shows
More wealth than Britain ever had to lose,
Were all her atoms of unleavened ore,
And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the stake
And the World trembles to bid brokers break.