Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Ebenezer Jones 1820–60Song of the Kings of Gold
O
Amid untrodden groves
Where music ever calls,
Where faintest perfume roves;
And thousands toiling moan,
That gorgeous robes may fold
The haughty forms alone
Of us—the Kings of Gold.
We cannot count our slaves,
Nothing bounds our sway,
Our will destroys and saves,
We let, we create, we slay.
Ha! ha! who are Gods?
Jewels, and silks, and pearl,
All splendors of form and hue,
Our charm’d existence furl;
When dared shadow dim
The glow in our winecups roll’d?
When droop’d the banquet-hymn
Rais’d for the King of Gold?
Its corn, its fruits, its wine,
Its sun, its rain, its flowers,
Ours, all, all!—cannot shine
One sunlight ray, but where
Our mighty titles hold;
Wherever life is, there
Possess the Kings of Gold.
Woman, and man, and child,
Us trembling homage gives;
Aye trampled, sport-defil’d,
None dareth raise one frown,
Or slightest questioning hold;
Our scorn but strikes them down
To adore the Kings of Gold.
Eternal rocks we stand;
Our joy is our lonely state,
And our trust, our own right hand;
We frown, and nations shrink;
They curse, but our swords are old;
And the wine of their rage deep drink
The dauntless Kings of Gold.
We cannot count our slaves,
Nothing bounds our sway,
Our will destroys and saves,
We let, we create, we slay.
Ha! ha! who are Gods?