Composed when confined to a solitary cell, on bread
and water, without books or writing materials, May 1849
Troublesome fancies beset me
Sometimes as I sit in my cell,
That comrades and friends may forget me,
And foes may remember too well.
That plans which I thought well digested
May prove to be bubbles of air;
And hopes when they come to be tested,
May turn to the seed of despair.
But tho’ I may doubt all beside me,
And anchor and cable my part,
Whatever-whatever betide me,
Forbid me to doubt my own heart!
For sickness may wreck a brave spirit,
And time wear the brain to a shade;
And dastardly age disinherit
Creations that manhood has made.
But, God! let me ne’er cease to cherish
The truths I so fondly have held!
Far sooner, at once let me perish,
Ere firmness and courage are quelled.
Tho’ my head in the dust may be lying,
And bad men exult o’er my fall,
I shall smile at them-smile at them, dying,
The Right is the Right, after all!
(Ernest Jones)
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