England. In The Camp.

This is a leader's tent. "Who gathers here?"
    Enter and see and listen. On the ground
Men sit or stand, enter or disappear,
    Dark faces and deep voices all around.

One answers you. "You ask who gathers here?
    Companions! Generals we have none, nor chief.
What need is there? The plan is all so clear -
    The future's hope, the present's grim relief!

"Food for us all, and clothes, and roofs come first.
    The means to gain them? This, our leaguered band!
The hatred of the robber rich accursed
    Keeps foes together, makes fools understand.

"Beyond the present's faith, the future's hope
    Points to the dawning hour when all shall be
But one. The man condemned shall fit the rope
    Around the hangman's neck, and both be free!

"The sun then rises on a happier land
    Where Wealth and Labour sound but as one word.
We drill, we train, we arm our leaguered band.
    What is there more to tell you have not heard?"

This is a leader's tent. They gather here,
    Resolute, stern, menacing. On the ground
They sit or stand, enter or disappear,
    Dark faces and deep voices all around.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

The Man Of The Nation.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

To An Unionist.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

To The Christians.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Farewell To The Children.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

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The Peasants' Revolt. {35}

Thro' the mists of years,
    Thro' the lies of men,
Your bloody sweat and tears,
Your desperate hopes and fears
    Reach us once again.

Brothers, who long ago,
    For life's bitter sake
Toiled and suffered so,
Robbery, insult, blow,
    Rope and sword and stake:

Toiled and suffered, till
    It burst, the brightening hope,
"Might and right" and "will and skill,"
That scorned, and does, and will,
    Sword and stake and rope!

Wat and Jack and John,
    Tyler, Straw, and Ball,
Souls that faltered not,
Hearts like white iron hot,
    Still we hear your call!

Yes, your "bell is rung,"
    Yes, for "now is time!"
Come hither, every one,
Brave ghosts whose day's not done,
    Avengers of old rime, -<...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Proem. "Outside London."

In the black night, along the mud-deep roads,
    Amid the threatening boughs and ghastly streams,
Hark! sounds that gird the darknesses like goads,
    Murmurs and rumours and reverberant dreams,
Tramplings, breaths, movements, and a little light. -
The marching of the Army of the Night!

The stricken men, the mad brute-beasts are keeping
    No more their places in the ditches or holes,
But rise and join us, and the women, weeping
    Beside the roadways, rise like demon-souls.
Fill up the ranks! What shimmers there so bright?
The bayonets of the Army of the Night!

Fill up the ranks! We march in steadfast column,
    In wavering lines yet forming more and more;
Men, women, children, sombre, silent, solemn,
    Rank follows rank like billo...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Dublin At Dawn.

In the chill grey summer dawn-light
    We pass through the empty streets;
The rattling wheels are all silent;
    No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners,
    A man in a great-coat stands;
A bayonet hangs by his side, and
    A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city;
    It speaks of war not peace;
And that's one of the English soldiers
    The English call "police."

You see, at the present moment
    That noble country of mine
Is boiling with indignation
    At the memory of a "crime."

In a path in the Phoenix Park where
    The children romped and ran,
An Irish ruffian met his doom,
    And an English gentleman.

For a hundred and over a hundred
    Years on the country side<...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

The Man Of The Nation.

Yonder the band is playing
    And the fine young people walk.
They are envying each other and talking
    Their pretty empty talk.

There, in the shade on the outskirts,
    Stretched on the grass, I see
A man with a slouch hat, smoking.
    That is the man for me!

That is the Man of the Nation;
    He works and much endures.
When all the rest is rotten,
    He rises and cuts and cures.

He's the soldier of the Crimea,
    Fighting to honour fools;
He's the grappler and strangler of Lee
    Lord of the terrible tools.

He's in all the conquered nations
    That have won their own at last,
And in all that yet shall win it.
    And the world by him goes past!

O strong sly world, this nameless
    Still, much-e...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

The New Locksley Hall. "Forty Years After."

Comrade, yet a little further I would go before the night
Closes round and chills in darkness all the glorious sunset light -
Yet a little, by the cliff there, till the stately home I see
Of the man who once was with us, comrade once with you and me!
Nay, but leave me, pass alone there; stay awhile and gaze again
On the various-jewelled waters and the dreamy southern main,
For the evening breeze is sighing in the quiet of the hills
Moving down in cliff and terrace to the singing sweet sea-rills,
While the river, silent-stealing, thro' the copse and thro' the lea
Winds her waveless way eternal to the welcome of the sea.
Yes, within that green-clad homestead, gardened grounds and velvet ease
Of a home where culture reigneth and the chambers whisper peace,
Is the man, the seer and s...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To The Sons Of Labour.

Grave this deep in your hearts,
Forget not the tale of the past!
Never, never believe
That any will help you, or can,
Saving only yourselves!
What have the gentlemen done,
Peerless haters of wrong,
Byrons and Shelleys, what?
They stand great famous names,
Demi-gods to their own,
Shadows far off, alien
To us and ours for ever.
Those who love them and hate
The crime, the injustice they hated,
What can they do but shout,
Win a name from our woes,
And leave us just as we were?
No, but resolutely turned,
Our wants, our desires made clear,
And clear the means that shall win them,
Drill and drill and drill!
Then when the day is come,
When the royal battle-flag's up,
When blood has been spilled in vain
In timid half-hearted war,...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams