Joseph Skipsey

The Reign of Gold

IT sounded in castle and palace,
     It sounded in cottage and shed,
It sped over mountains and valleys,
     And withered the earth as it sped
Like a blast in its fell consummation
     Of all that we holy should hold,
Thrilled, thrilled thro’ the nerves of the
           nation,
     A cry for the reign of King Gold.
 
Upstarted the chiefs of the city,
     And sending it back with a ring,
To the air of a popular ditty,
     Erected a throne to the king:
’Twas based upon fiendish persuasions,
     Cemented by crimes manifold:
Embellished by specious ovations,
     That dazzled the foes of King Gold.
 
The prey of unruly emotion,
     The miner and diver go forth,
And the depths of the earth and the ocean
     Are shorn of their lustre and worth;
The mountain is riven asunder,
     The days of the valley are told;
And sinew, and glory, and grandeur,
     Are sapped for a smile of King Gold.
 
Beguiled of their native demeanour,
     The high rush with heirlooms and bays;
The poor with what gold cannot weigh, nor
     The skill of the pedant appraise;
The soldier he spurs with his duty,
     And lo! by the frenzy made bold,
The damsel she glides with her beauty,
     To garnish the brow of King Gold.
 
Accustomed to traffic forbidden
     By honour—by heaven—each hour,
The purest, by conscience unchidden,
     Laugh, laugh at the noble and pure;
And Chastity, rein’s in a halter,
     Is led to the temple and sold,
Devotion herself, at the altar,
     Yields homage alone to King Gold.
 
Affection, on whose honey blossom,
     The child of affliction still fed—
Affection is plucked from the bosom,
     And malice implanted instead;
And dark grow the brows of the tender,
     And colder the hearts of the cold:—
Love, pity, and justice surrender
     Their charge to the hounds of King Gold.
 
See, see, from the sear’d earth ascending,
     A cloud o’er the welkin expands;
See, see, 'mid the dense vapour bending,
     Pale women with uplifted hands;
Smokes thus to the bridegroom of Circe,
     The dear blood of hundreds untold;
Invokes thus the angel of mercy
     A curse on the reign of King Gold.
 
It sounded in castle and palace,
     It sounded in cottage and shed,
It sped over mountains and alleys,
     And withered the earth as it sped;
Like a blast in its fell consummation
     Of all that we holy should hold,
Thrilled, thrilled thro’ the nerves of the
           nation;
  ‘Cling! clang! for the reign of King Gold.’
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