  I. When Freedom first appeared beneath, Right simple was the garb she wore: Her brows were circled with a wreath Such as the Grecian victors bore: Her vesture all of spotless white, Her aspect stately and serene; And so she moved in all men's sight As lovely as a Maiden Queen. II. And queenlike, long she ruled the throng, As ancient records truly tell; Their strength she took not from the strong, But taught them how to use it well. Her presence graced the peasant's floor As freely as the noble's hall: And aye the humbler was the door, The still more welcome was her call. III. But simple manners rarely range Beyond the simpler ages' ken: And e'en the Virtues sometimes change Their vesture and their looks, like men. Pride, noble once, grows close and vain, And Honour stoops to vulgar things, And old Obedience slacks the rein, And murmurs at the rule of kings. IV. So Freedom, like her sisters too, Has felt the impulse of the time, Has changed her garments' blameless hue, And donn'd the colours dear to crime First in a Phrygian cap she stalked, And bore within her grasp the spear; And ever, when abroad she walk'd, Men knew Revenge was following near. V. She moves again—The death-drums roll, The frantic mobs their chorus raise, The thunder of the Carmagnole— The war-chant of the Marseillaise' Red run the streets with blameless blood— The guillotine comes clanking down— And Freedom, in her drunken mood, Can witness all without a frown. VI. Times change again: and Freedom now, Though scarcely yet less wild and frantic, Appears, before men's eyes below, In guises more intensely antic. As o'er the earth she goes crusading; But shifts her habit and her airs Like Joe Grimaldi masquerading. VII. Through Paris you may see her tread, The cynosure of all beholders; A bonnet rouge upon her head, A ragged blouse upon her shoulders. More decent now than once she was, Though equally opposed to riches, She still upholds the good old cause, Yet condescends to wear the breeches. VIII. The Huns behold her as of yore, With grisly beard and monstrous swagger; The swart Italian bows before The Goddess with the mask and dagger. The German, as his patriot thirst With beer Bavarian he assuages, Surveys her image, as at first 'Twas pictured in the Middle Ages. IX. Her glorious form appears to him In all its pristine pomp and glitter, Equipped complete from head to heel, In semblance of a stalwart Ritter. With doublet slash, and fierce moustache, And wrinkled boots of russet leather, And hose and belt, with hat of felt Surmounted by a capon's feather. X. Mysterious as Egyptian Sphinx, A perfect riddle—who can solve her? One while she comes with blazing links, The next, she's armed with a revolver. Across the main, whene'er the shoe Upon her radiant instep pinches, To-day, she'll tar and feather you; To-morrow, and she merely Lynches. XI. While thus abroad, in varied guise, We see the fair enchantress flitting, She deigns to greet in other wise Her latest satellites in Britain. Sometimes, in black dissenting cloth, She figures like an undertaker; And sometimes plunges, nothing loath, Into the garments of a Quaker. XII. You'll find her recommending pikes At many a crowded Chartist meeting, Where gentlemen, like William Sykes, To exiled patriots vote their greeting. Engaged upon a bloody errand, When, stead of arguments, she sends Her bludgeoneers to silence Ferrand. XIII. You'll find her too, at different dates, With men of peace on platforms many, Denouncing loans to foreign states Whereof they could not raise a penny. In short, to end the catalogue, There's hardly any son of Edom Who, in his character of rogue, Won't tell you that he worships Freedom. XIV. Yet hold—one sample more—the last, Ere of this theme we make a clearance; One little month is barely past Since London saw her grand appearance, In one of those enormous hats, Short leggings and peculiar jerkins, Which men assume who tend the vats Of Barclay and his partner Perkins. XV. To that great factory of b |
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