 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
VULGARIA.
Girt with gruesome walls of iron,
Walls no mortal eye can see,
That with fatal arms environ
Spirits meant for spreading free;
Where the gold is lightly scattered,
In the courts of careless ease,
And each idle sense is flattered
With the gifts that idlers please;
Rich it rises up, a City
Beautiful, from marble throne,
Blest with every grace but pity,
Hearts and palaces of stone.
Walls no mortal eye can see,
That with fatal arms environ
Spirits meant for spreading free;
Where the gold is lightly scattered,
In the courts of careless ease,
And each idle sense is flattered
With the gifts that idlers please;
Rich it rises up, a City
Beautiful, from marble throne,
Blest with every grace but pity,
Hearts and palaces of stone.
Flourish pomp and pride, the glory
Of ten thousand goodly sights,
Flash of fountains, and the story
Told by ever-new delights;
Song birds delicately twitter,
Drowning ugly notes of pain,
Precious jewels with their glitter
Would conceal the prison chain;
No expense is spared to cover
Awkward hints of secret strife,
Where the husband is a lover
Faithful—to his neighbour's wife.
Of ten thousand goodly sights,
Flash of fountains, and the story
Told by ever-new delights;
Song birds delicately twitter,
Drowning ugly notes of pain,
Precious jewels with their glitter
Would conceal the prison chain;
No expense is spared to cover
Awkward hints of secret strife,
Where the husband is a lover
Faithful—to his neighbour's wife.
Yet it all is outward glamour,
But the mummer's ghastly grin,
And the artful glow and clamour
Do not veil the want within;
Do not, with their costly aping
Of the pleasure that is not,
Choke the shadow, and the shaping
Of the hidden poison spot;
Do not by their dainty varnish
Mask, in the polluted land
Deeds, that fame imperial tarnish,
With the leper's loathsome brand.
But the mummer's ghastly grin,
And the artful glow and clamour
Do not veil the want within;
Do not, with their costly aping
Of the pleasure that is not,
Choke the shadow, and the shaping
Of the hidden poison spot;
366
Mask, in the polluted land
Deeds, that fame imperial tarnish,
With the leper's loathsome brand.
Here the fool steps to the title,
Which true merit might not crave;
And the hero gains requital
In far exile or a grave;
Here the place is given for money,
To the Dives on the mart,
And the drones consume the honey
Who in hiving took no part;
Deeper sinks the killing leaven,
With the honours bought and sold,
While each door (but that of Heaven)
Opens to the key of gold.
Which true merit might not crave;
And the hero gains requital
In far exile or a grave;
Here the place is given for money,
To the Dives on the mart,
And the drones consume the honey
Who in hiving took no part;
Deeper sinks the killing leaven,
With the honours bought and sold,
While each door (but that of Heaven)
Opens to the key of gold.
Wealthy scoundrels prove their courage,
On the humble and the weak,
And their lust finds ready forage
In the woes that cannot speak;
In the murder of the maiden
Cast in tomb of early care,
With the crushing sorrow laden
That they give but cannot share;
From the purity, that blighted
Laid its blossom in the dust,
And a passing hour delighted
The bleared eyes of hoary lust.
On the humble and the weak,
And their lust finds ready forage
In the woes that cannot speak;
In the murder of the maiden
Cast in tomb of early care,
With the crushing sorrow laden
That they give but cannot share;
From the purity, that blighted
Laid its blossom in the dust,
And a passing hour delighted
The bleared eyes of hoary lust.
Here the paid and perjured scribble,
Safe in editorial gloom,
Dropping lies and venom dribble,
Meting out cigars and doom;
Doze in dim Olympic station,
Using brandy more than ink,
Kill a glorious reputation,
And go home again to drink;
Wake to set some nasty riddle,
Of a woman or a horse,
And though dying dance and fiddle
Over faith's unburied corse.
Safe in editorial gloom,
Dropping lies and venom dribble,
Meting out cigars and doom;
Doze in dim Olympic station,
Using brandy more than ink,
Kill a glorious reputation,
And go home again to drink;
Wake to set some nasty riddle,
Of a woman or a horse,
And though dying dance and fiddle
Over faith's unburied corse.
All is empty show, the shining
Of disorder and decay,
Mockery of gaud's repining,
When the life has passed away;
And beneath the specious splutter,
Purple hangings, foaming wine,
Writhe the revels of the gutter,
And the wallowing of swine;
Under sham of tawdry painting,
Flowers that baby fingers cull,
Lurks the skeleton of tainting,
Scowls the cold and clammy skull.
Of disorder and decay,
Mockery of gaud's repining,
When the life has passed away;
And beneath the specious splutter,
Purple hangings, foaming wine,
Writhe the revels of the gutter,
And the wallowing of swine;
367
Flowers that baby fingers cull,
Lurks the skeleton of tainting,
Scowls the cold and clammy skull.
Here they serve one god in Fashion,
Have no virtue but degree
In each folly, crime or passion,
That their tyrant may decree;
Decked with silver, lace, and ermine,
Over rags and running sorcs,
Mingling diamonds and vermin,
Saints of slums and temple whores;
All is false and vulgar, pointing
Of the pageant of a breath,
And below the bright anointing,
Dirt and infamy and death.
Have no virtue but degree
In each folly, crime or passion,
That their tyrant may decree;
Decked with silver, lace, and ermine,
Over rags and running sorcs,
Mingling diamonds and vermin,
Saints of slums and temple whores;
All is false and vulgar, pointing
Of the pageant of a breath,
And below the bright anointing,
Dirt and infamy and death.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |