The following poem was written by the radical James Bronterre O’Brien and published in place of the frontispiece in the bound volume of George Julian Harney’s short-lived magazine the Vanguard.

Battle Song of the Conspirators for Equality

By tyrant codes enthralled, by knaves borne down,

Man stoops to man, and villains wear the crown:

Where is the freeman’s voice? the warrior’s steel?

Shall we not stoutly fight as well as keenly feel?

Awake! arise, at Liberty’s command!

Th’Aurora of our freedom is at hand

And slavery’s might is o’er if we’ll but bravely stand!

Oh Nature, or whatever power it be,

Which said to man, “Be happy and be free!

Say by what strange mischance thy laws, o’erthrown,

Have yielded place to slavery and a throne!

Is there not one will dare assert the cause

Of outraged manhood, and thy broken laws?

How long shall man quail ’neath the despot rule

Of a usurper or a king-born fool?

Nations! arise, at Liberty’s command!

Th’Aurora of your freedom is at hand,

And slavery’s might is o’er if we’ll but bravely stand!

In ancient times, when yet our race was young,

Nor gold nor war the soul to madness stung,

Each in the land possessed an equal share,

No kingly luxury known, no gaunt despair;

Then peace and competence went band in hand,

Unfear’d the assassin’s knife, the foeman’s brand

These days are ours again if we’ll but bravely stand!

In those bless’d days when man, of man the friend,

Not yet had learn’d to borrow or to lend,

Nature on all alike her bounty poured;

No starving wretch was seen, no pampered lord

Til fraud and priestcraft, by ambition led,

Taught man his kind to hate, his blood to shed;

Then princes, subjects, masters, serfs were known,

And shuddering Freedom fled before a THRONE!

Then started into life the warrior’s trade;

Then groan’d the assassin’d sire, the ravish’d maid!

Pillage and murder still the steps pursued

Of Heroes, glazng in the path of blood;

Then first were heard the ravings of despair,

And dying wretches rent with shrieks the air.

Nations! arise, at Liberty’s command!

Th’Aurora of your freedom is at hand,

And slavery’s might is o’er if you’ll but bravely stand!

Where is the difference ‘tween the serf and peer?

Why meanly quail ye, then, with idiot fear?

Bring front to front the oppressor and the oppressed;

Wealth cannot strength impart, nor title steel the breast,

Lay on! lay on! the death sigh of the brave

Be ours, and not the deathbed of the slave!

Nations! arise, at Liberty’s command!

Th’Aurora of your freedom is at hand,

And slavery’s might is o’er if you’ll but bravely stand.