616 TO MADELINE. 



provement of our social condition is no individual business it is 

 the business of the nation. Let all parties and conditions co-operate 

 for an end so desirable, so needful, so imperative. The wealth of 

 Britain has been justly called ' the wonder of the world/ Shall we 

 then, Tantalus like, perish for need, with an ocean of riches around 

 us ? ' Let not foreigners be entitled, in preaching over our graves, 

 to pronounce that we were a people who did not know how to enjoy 

 prosperity that our money, like our blood, flew to our heads that 

 our riches corrupted our minds and that it was absolutely our 

 enormous wealth which sunk us/ Above all, let us not sell our 

 noblest birth-right for a mess of pottage, destroy our agriculture, and 

 unbalance further internal production and consumption, when the ex- 

 tension of the beneficent power which has supplemented to such an 

 extent the energies of Britain, which has carried her forward through 

 difficulties which seemed insurmountable,, which has made ' her 

 merchants, princes her traffickers, the honourable of the earth, 

 which has stretched out her hand over the sea, and made her the 

 mart of nations,' will remove ' the burden upon the crowned isle,' 

 even the circumstance which has made the 



' Voice one heard 

 Delightfully, increase and multiply, 

 Now DEATH TO HEAR ! for what can we increase, 

 Or multiply, save penury, and woe, and crime,' 



by achieving that master-stroke of economic science, THE FORMA- 

 TION OF A COMMUNITY AT HOME, WHO CAN MAKE CHEAP BREAD AT 

 HOME, AND BE SO REMUNERATED AS TO CONSUME PROSPEROUSLY 

 COMMODITIES MADE AT HOME. 



TO MADELINE. 



My own, my dearest fare-thee-well ! 



I see thy sunny smile no more, 

 No more with me thine accents dwell, 



But die like music o'er the shore. 



Albeit within my conscious heart 



They live embalm'd a fitting shrine 



And there will dwell each look each word, 

 And every nameless grace of thine ! 



And must I gaze upon thy charms 

 And ever madly love in vain ? 



And wilt thou never bless my arms 

 My gentlest, dearest Madeline ? 



'Tis even so my cruel star 



Has doomed me to the wretched ties, 

 To see adore to woo and win, 



But never to enjoy the prize. 



