Poem by John Watkins

Lines on Shell, Killed at Newport

Who fought for freedom, more than life? 
Who gave up all, to die in strife? 
	The young, the brave, no more a slave, 
		Immortal Shell! 
		That died so well, — 
	He fell, and sleeps in honour’s grave.

They shot him, shot the father’s son — 
Too soon his honest race was run. 
	The “red-coat” fired — poor Shell expir’d 
		Freedom! he cried, 
		He spoke, and died. 
	He gain’d the freedom, he required.

Oh, horrid was the wound that bled! 
And piteous was his look when dead! 
	He died a martyr for the Charter. 
		He died in pain, 
		But not in vain: 
	Who would not life for freedom barter?

They laid him in his timeless tomb. 
Oh, weep not for his happy doom: 
	But, on the sod, lets kneel to God, 
		And may his spirit 
		Our hearts inherit, 
	That we may break the despot’s rod.

1. The Corn Laws and Emigration
2. Extract from the Play of John Frost

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