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POLAND
How long, O God, shall man be ridden down,
And trampled under by the last and least
Of men? The heart of Poland hath not ceased
To quiver, Tho' her sacred blood doth drown
The fields; and out of every smouldering town
Cries to thee, lest brute power be increased,
Till that o'er grown barbarian in the East
Transgress his ample bound to some new crown:
Cries to thee, Lord, how long shall these things be?
How long this icy-hearted muscovite
Oppress the region? Us, 0 Justand Good,
Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three;
Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right-
A matter to be wept with tears of blood!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Sandy Sanderson