Thank you for visiting SNEWPapers!
Sign up free
Poem
October 21, 1853
Southern Christian Advocate
Charleston, Charleston County, South Carolina
What is this article about?
Satirical poem personifying King Cholera as he arrives in England, welcomed by squalid urban conditions, poverty, filth, and neglectful authorities that enable his deadly reign, critiquing societal and political failures.
Clipping
OCR Quality
98%
Excellent
Full Text
POETRY.
From the London Punch
KING CHOLERA'S PROCESSION.
From Russian steppe, from Persian sand,
From pine fringed Norway fiord.
From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strand,
I've skimmed the sea—I've swept the land—
Way for your lord!
Come deck my board—prepare my bed
And let the trump of doom
Peal out a march, that as I tread
Above the dying and the dead
All may make room!
From far I snuff the odor sweet
That I do love the best,
And whereso'er I set my feet,
Courtiers and liegemen flock to greet.
Their King confest.
Well have you done your loyal part,
My subjects and my slaves—
In town and country, port and mart,
All's ready—after my own heart—
All to the grave!
What is my feast? These babes forepined?—
Men o'er their prime made old—
These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind.
These herds of unsexed womankind,
Fouled-mouthed and bold—
These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, seared
With the malaria's breath;
In foetid dens and work-shops reared;
From reeking sewers, drains uncleared.
Drinking in death.
What is my court? These cellars piled
With filth of many a year—
These rooms with rotting damps defiled—
These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled,
Darkling and drear!
These streets along the river's bank
Below the rise of tide;
These hovels, set in stifling rank.
Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank—
These cesspools wide.
These yards, whose heaps of dust and bone
Breathe poison all around:
These styes, whose swinish tenants grown
Half human, with their masters own
A common ground.
What are my perfumes? Stink and stench
From slaughter-house and sewer:
The oozing gas from opened trench:
The effluvia of the pools that drench
Court yards impure.
What is my music? Hard wrung groans
From strong men stricken down;
Women and children's feebler moans,
And the slow death-bell's muffled tones
In every town.
Who are my lieges? Those that rule
In Vestry and at board;
The town hall's glib and giddy fool.
The mob's most abject slave and tool,
Though called its lord.
He who with prate of vested rights
Old forms of wrong defends:
Who for pound foolishness still fights,
Wisdom, save, penny-wisdom slights—
These are my friends.
From the London Punch
KING CHOLERA'S PROCESSION.
From Russian steppe, from Persian sand,
From pine fringed Norway fiord.
From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strand,
I've skimmed the sea—I've swept the land—
Way for your lord!
Come deck my board—prepare my bed
And let the trump of doom
Peal out a march, that as I tread
Above the dying and the dead
All may make room!
From far I snuff the odor sweet
That I do love the best,
And whereso'er I set my feet,
Courtiers and liegemen flock to greet.
Their King confest.
Well have you done your loyal part,
My subjects and my slaves—
In town and country, port and mart,
All's ready—after my own heart—
All to the grave!
What is my feast? These babes forepined?—
Men o'er their prime made old—
These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind.
These herds of unsexed womankind,
Fouled-mouthed and bold—
These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, seared
With the malaria's breath;
In foetid dens and work-shops reared;
From reeking sewers, drains uncleared.
Drinking in death.
What is my court? These cellars piled
With filth of many a year—
These rooms with rotting damps defiled—
These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled,
Darkling and drear!
These streets along the river's bank
Below the rise of tide;
These hovels, set in stifling rank.
Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank—
These cesspools wide.
These yards, whose heaps of dust and bone
Breathe poison all around:
These styes, whose swinish tenants grown
Half human, with their masters own
A common ground.
What are my perfumes? Stink and stench
From slaughter-house and sewer:
The oozing gas from opened trench:
The effluvia of the pools that drench
Court yards impure.
What is my music? Hard wrung groans
From strong men stricken down;
Women and children's feebler moans,
And the slow death-bell's muffled tones
In every town.
Who are my lieges? Those that rule
In Vestry and at board;
The town hall's glib and giddy fool.
The mob's most abject slave and tool,
Though called its lord.
He who with prate of vested rights
Old forms of wrong defends:
Who for pound foolishness still fights,
Wisdom, save, penny-wisdom slights—
These are my friends.
What sub-type of article is it?
Satire
Ballad
What themes does it cover?
Satire Society
Political
Death Mourning
What keywords are associated?
King Cholera
Procession
Cholera Epidemic
Social Satire
Urban Poverty
Poor Sanitation
London Punch
What entities or persons were involved?
From The London Punch
Poem Details
Title
King Cholera's Procession.
Author
From The London Punch
Subject
Cholera Epidemic And Urban Squalor
Form / Style
Rhymed Stanzas In Iambic Tetrameter
Key Lines
From Russian Steppe, From Persian Sand,
From Pine Fringed Norway Fiord.
From Elbe's And Eyder's Peopled Strand,
I've Skimmed The Sea—I've Swept The Land—
Way For Your Lord!
What Is My Feast? These Babes Forepined?—
Men O'er Their Prime Made Old—
These Sots, With Strong Drink Bleared And Blind.
These Herds Of Unsexed Womankind,
Fouled Mouthed And Bold—