 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
NOW AND THEN
One rode amid a rabble throng,
And laid about him with a sword;
His heart was high, his hand was strong,
Nor did he stint an angry word;
“Ho! lurdanes, earth is full of bread,
An ye will work for its increase,
But an ye idle here, instead,
'Twere better that your breath should cease.
Get to the mattock and the hoe,
The distaff and the spinning-wheel;
Ods life! who will not work, shall know
The bitter taste of cord or steel.
Away! with crutch and beggar's whine!
Away with balled-singing rogues!
And lo! ye shall have flesh and wine,
And hosen warm and leathern brogues;
And there shall not be rags or debt,
Or hunger in the land, or cold,
If ye will only dig and sweat”—
But that was in the days of old.
And laid about him with a sword;
His heart was high, his hand was strong,
Nor did he stint an angry word;
“Ho! lurdanes, earth is full of bread,
An ye will work for its increase,
But an ye idle here, instead,
'Twere better that your breath should cease.
Get to the mattock and the hoe,
The distaff and the spinning-wheel;
Ods life! who will not work, shall know
The bitter taste of cord or steel.
Away! with crutch and beggar's whine!
Away with balled-singing rogues!
And lo! ye shall have flesh and wine,
And hosen warm and leathern brogues;
And there shall not be rags or debt,
Or hunger in the land, or cold,
If ye will only dig and sweat”—
But that was in the days of old.
One looked upon a wrathful crowd
That surged about the market square,
And with hoarse clamour cried aloud
The spawn of Tyrants not to spare;
And from the throng he took his way
Into a waste and desert land,
In loneliness to brood and pray,
And bring back order and command.
Then coming from the desert place,
Again the market square he trod,
With shining glories in his face,
And laws that had the seal of God:
“Behold,” he said, “the gods command
That ye shall keep these statutes good,
And they will give you fruitful land
To dwell in, and ye shall have food.”
And they had faith, and writ the laws
In letters large of gleaming gold,
To order every plea and cause—
But that was in the days of old.
That surged about the market square,
And with hoarse clamour cried aloud
The spawn of Tyrants not to spare;
And from the throng he took his way
Into a waste and desert land,
In loneliness to brood and pray,
And bring back order and command.
Then coming from the desert place,
Again the market square he trod,
With shining glories in his face,
And laws that had the seal of God:
“Behold,” he said, “the gods command
That ye shall keep these statutes good,
And they will give you fruitful land
To dwell in, and ye shall have food.”
And they had faith, and writ the laws
In letters large of gleaming gold,
To order every plea and cause—
But that was in the days of old.
But now this pinched and sunk-eyed mob,
'Tis work they ask the Powers to give,
Hating to filch or steal or rob,
Ashamed to beg that they may live.
But silent is the clicking loom,
And silent too the birring wheel,
The flaming forge is quenched in gloom,
The mill is grinding little meal.
The ships are rotting in the dock,
The cage hangs listless o'er the mine,
The hammer rings not on the rock,
The spade rusts on the unfinished line,
And gladly would they toil and sweat,
Without the taste of cord or steel,
And gladly keep the order set
By any law the gods could seal.
But I have only tongue and pen,
And neither force nor faith to hold
My way among the sons of men
As they did in the days of old.
'Tis work they ask the Powers to give,
Hating to filch or steal or rob,
Ashamed to beg that they may live.
But silent is the clicking loom,
And silent too the birring wheel,
The flaming forge is quenched in gloom,
The mill is grinding little meal.
The ships are rotting in the dock,
The cage hangs listless o'er the mine,
The hammer rings not on the rock,
The spade rusts on the unfinished line,
And gladly would they toil and sweat,
Without the taste of cord or steel,
And gladly keep the order set
By any law the gods could seal.
But I have only tongue and pen,
And neither force nor faith to hold
My way among the sons of men
As they did in the days of old.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |