University of Virginia Library

THE TWO VOICES.

(January 1871.)

FIRST VOICE.
Fly to me, England! Hie to me,
Now in mine hour of woe;
Haste o'er the sea, ere I die, to me;
Swiftly, my Sister! stand nigh to me.
Help me to strike one blow!
Over the land and the water,
Swifter than winds can go,
Up the red furrow of slaughter,
Down on the lair of the foe!
Now, when my children scream madly and cling to me;
Now, when I droop o'er the dying they bring to me;
Come to me, England! O speak to me, spring to me!
Hurl the assassin low!

SECOND VOICE.
Woe to thee? I would go to thee
Faster than wind can flee;
Doth not my fond heart flow to thee?
Would I might rise and show to thee
All that my love would be!
But behold, they bind me and blind me;
Cowards, yet born of me;
They fasten my hands behind me,
I am chain'd to a rock in the sea.
Alas, what availeth my grief while I sigh for thee?
Traitors have trapt me—I struggle—I cry for thee—
Come to thee, Sister? Yea, were it to die for thee!—
O that my hands were free!

FIRST VOICE.
Pray for me, Sister! say for me
Prayers until help is nigh;
Send thy loud voice each way for me,
Trouble the night and the day for me,
Waken the world and the sky:
Say that my heart is broken,
Say that my children die;
With blood and tears for thy token,
Plead till the nations reply.
Plead to the sea, and the earth, and the air for me!
Move the hard heart of the world till it care for me—
Come to me, England!—at least say a prayer for me,
Waken the winds with a cry!

SECOND VOICE.
Doom on me, Hell's own gloom on me,
Blood and a lasting blame!
Already the dark days loom on me,
Cold as the shade of the tomb on me;
I am call'd by the coward's name.
Shall I hark to a murder'd nation?
Shall I sit unarm'd and tame?
Then woe to this generation,
Tho' out of my womb they came.
Betrayed by my children, I wall and I call for thee;
Not tears, but my heart's blood, O Sister, should fall for thee.
My children are slaves, or would strike one and all for thee:
Shame on them, shame! shame! shame!

FIRST VOICE.
Pain for thee! all things wane for thee
In truth, if this be so,
Fatal will be the stain for thee,
Dying, I mourn and 'plain for thee,
Since thou art left so low:
For Death can come once only,
Tho' bitterly comes the blow;
But Shame abideth, and lonely
Feels a sick heart come and go.
Homeless and citiless, yet I can weep for thee;
Fast comes the morrow with anguish most deep for thee;
Dying, I mourn for the sorrow they heap for thee:
Thine is the bitterest woe.

SECOND VOICE.
Mourn me not, Sister! scorn me not!
Pray yet for mine and me;
Tho' the old proud fame adorn me not,
The sore grief hath outworn me not:
Wait; I will come to thee.
I will rend my chains asunder,
I will tear my red sword free,
I will come with mine ancient thunder,
I will strike the foe to his knee.
Yea! tho' the knife of the butcher is nigh to thee;
Yea! while thou screamest and echoes reply to thee;
Comfort, O France; for in God's name, I fly to thee—
Sword in hand, over the sea!