Чарльз Маккей (Charles Mackay)

The Deposition of King Clog

King Clog was a mighty monarch,
He sat on his lofty seat,
With his golden crown and his ermine-down,
And his courtiers at his feet.
His power seem'd firm as the mountains —
Inert but strong was he;
And he ruled the land with a heavy hand,
And a placid tyranny.
And whenever a boon was asked him,
He stared with a calm amaze,
And said, "Ye foolish people,
Ye must stand on the ancient ways."

And long o'er the suffering nations
King Clog and his courtiers ruled,
And men half wise, who could use their eyes,
And were taught, and train'd, and school'd,
Conceived this ponderous monarch
Was bountiful, wise, and good;
And held it just to kneel in the dust
And smear him with gratitude.
And whenever the people murmur'd,
The king and his statesmen frown'd,
But stoutly refused to aid them,
And so the world went round.

He was a drowsy monarch,
They were a drowsy crew,
And from hour to hour, in their pride of power,
Duller and drowsier grew:
But a cry for reformation,
Which rose for evermore,
Disturb'd their sleep with its mutterings deep,
And stirr'd them to the core:
"We will not change," said the courtiers,
"For change is ever an ill;
We'll crush these restless people,
If we cannot keep them still."

But Clog, like all things mortal,
Decay'd as he grew old,
He loved to dose, in warm repose,
High on his throne of gold.
And the people saw his weakness,
And shouted in his ear,
"We've groan'd too long in sorrow and wrong"
Awake! let the right appear."
And the king, with eyes half open'd,
A lingering answer sent: —
"Let me alone, ye rabble —
And toil — and be content."

"We're weary of our bondage,"
Said they: "Oh, king, be just; —

We delve and spin, but cannot win
Our raiment and our crust;
We ask no boon from favor
That Justice should not give;
From cradle to grave we groan and slave
And die that we may live"
But Clog replied, hard-hearted,
"Your sires were wise as you;
They never complained; — poor wretches,
Ye know not what ye do."

But still the people clamor'd,
And the cry o'er the nation spread —
"Freedom of speech, freedom to teach,
Freedom to earn our bread;
These must we have, O monarch!
Whether you will or no; —
Too long we've pined, body and mind,
In ignorance and woe."
"Let me alone, I pray you,"
Said Clog, "nor vex my soul;
As the world has roll'd for ages,
So must it ever roll."

And he folded his arms on his bosom,
And slept, and never heard
The measured beat of the trampling feet,
And the oft-repeated word
That came from the solemn conclave
Of the people, met to plan
Some better laws, to aid the cause
Of the happiness of man.
Nor the voices loud resounding,
Like waves upon the shore,
That proclaim'd to the listening nations
That Clog should rule no more.

But Jog, the next successor,
Who understood his time,
Stepp'd on the throne: — " Father, begone;
To linger is a crime.
Go to thy bed and slumber,
And leave the world to me;
Thy mission's done; thy race is run —
I'm ruler of the free."
So Clog retired, obedient,
And Jog , his son, was crown'd.
We hope he'll govern better: —
And so the world goes round.

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