In contradiction from a thousand tongues,
Till like to prison-cells her freedoms grow
Becobwebbed with these oft-repeated songs
Of peace and plenty in the midst of woe—
And is it thus they mock her year by year,
Telling poor truth unto her face she lies,
Declaiming of her wealth with gibe severe,
So long as taxes drain their wished supplies?
And will these jailers rivet every chain
Anew, yet loudest in their mockery be,
To damn her into madness with disdain,
Forging new bonds and bidding her be free?
The final line says it all for me...