Upstarts.

What? do you say that we, the toilers - the slaves -
    (Why strain at the gnat name
Who swallow the camel thing your pocket craves?) -
    That we are "just the same,"

(Nay, worse) when power is ours and wealth - that we
    Are harder masters still,
More keen to ring her last from misery,
    More greedy of our will?

'Tis true! And when you see men so - see us
    Sneer at us, call us swine! -
"How we must love you who have made us thus,
    You may perhaps divine!"

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

Evening Hymn In The Hovels.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Dublin At Dawn.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

A Story. (For The Irish Delegates In Australia.)

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Song Of The Dispossessed. "To Jesus."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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To John Ruskin. (After Reading His "Modern Painters.")

Yes, you do well to mock us, you
    Who knew our bitter woe -
To jeer the false, deny the true
    In us blind struggling low,

While, on your pleasant place aloft
    With flowers and clouds and streams,
At our black sweat and toil you scoffed
    That marred your idle dreams.

"Oh, freedom, what was that to us,"
(You'd shout down to us there),
"Except the freedom foul, vicious,
    From all of good and fair?

"Obedience, faith, humility,
    To us were empty names." -
The like to you (might we reply)
    Whose noisy life proclaims

Presumption, want of human love,
    Impatience, filthy breath, {32}
The snob in soul who looks above,
    Trampling on what...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Why!

"Why is it we toil so?
    Where go all the gains?
What do we produce for it,
    All our pangs and pains?"

Why it is we toil so,
    Is it because, like sheep,
Since our fathers sought the shears,
    We the same course keep.

Where go all the gains? Well,
    It must be confessed,
First the landlords take the rent,
    And the masters take the rest.

What do we produce for it?
    Gentlemen! - and then
Imitation snobs who'd be
    Like the gentlemen!

"What, is it for such as these
    That we suffer thus?
Fuddle-brained and vicious fools,
    Vermin venomous?

"What, is that why on the top
    Creeps that Royal Louse,
<...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Liberty!

"Liberty!" Is that the cry, then?
    We have heard it oft of yore.
Once it had, we think, a meaning;
    Let us hear it now no more.

We have read what history tells us
    Of its heroes, martyrs too.
Doubtless they were very splendid,
    But they're not for me and you.

There were Greeks who fought and perished,
    Won from Persians deathless graves.
Had we lived then, we're aware that
    We'd have been those same Greeks' slaves!

Then a Roman came who loved us;
    Caesar gave men tongues and swords.
Crying "Liberty," they fought him,
    Cato and his cut-throat lords.

When he'd give a broader franchise,
    Lift the mangled nations bowed,
Crying "Liberty!" they killed him,
    Brutus and his pandar crowd.
...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

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

The Truth.

Come then, let us at least know what's the truth.
    Let us not blink our eyes and say
We did not understand; old age or youth
    Benumbed our sense or stole our sight away.

It is a lie - just that, a lie - to declare
    That wages are the worth of work.
No; they are what the Employer wills to spare
    To let the Employee sheer starvation shirk.

They're the life-pittance Competition leaves,
    The least for which brother'll slay brother.
He who the fruits of this hell-strife receives,
    He is a thief, an assassin, and none other!

It is a lie - just that, a lie - to declare
    That Rent's the interest on just gains.
Rent's the thumb-screw that makes the worker share
    With him who worked not the produce of his pains.

Rent's the...

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