To The Bartholdi Statue

By Ambrose Bierce

O Liberty, God-gifted—

    Young and immortal maid—

  In your high hand uplifted,

    The torch declares your trade.

  Its crimson menace, flaming

    Upon the sea and shore,

  Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming

    That Law shall be no more.

  Austere incendiary,

   We're blinking in the light;

 Where is your customary

   Grenade of dynamite?

 Where are your staves and switches

   For men of gentle birth?

 Your mask and dirk for riches?

   Your chains for wit and worth?

 Perhaps, you've brought the halters

   You used in the old days,

 When round religion's altars

   You stabled Cromwell's bays?

 Behind you, unsuspected,

   Have you the axe, fair wench,

 Wherewith you once collected

   A poll-tax for the French?

 America salutes you—

   Preparing to "disgorge."

 Take everything that suits you,

   And marry Henry George.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.The lyrical form of this poem is abab.1.In 1886 Fré;dé;ric-Auguste Bartholdi'sstatue of Liberty--entitled \