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SEVEN SONNETS.
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II. CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.
“Vengeance is mine.” So saith the mighty Lord.
“Vengeance is mine; deliver unto me
The man—I claim him. He is not for thee,
Thou land of his, to slay. Mine is the sword
Of vengeance. Put by that accursed cord,
And hack to pieces that black gallows-tree;—
Murder no murderer; let the creature be;
Mine are the gates of death,”—so saith the Lord.
“Vengeance is mine; deliver unto me
The man—I claim him. He is not for thee,
Thou land of his, to slay. Mine is the sword
Of vengeance. Put by that accursed cord,
And hack to pieces that black gallows-tree;—
Murder no murderer; let the creature be;
Mine are the gates of death,”—so saith the Lord.
“The spirit he hath slain is in my hand;
I will judge justly, punish and requite;
But purge this stain of blood from out the land.
The dawn is waiting, but its golden light
Trembles, for in its path your gibbets stand,
Still clothed about with horrors of the night.”
I will judge justly, punish and requite;
But purge this stain of blood from out the land.
The dawn is waiting, but its golden light
Trembles, for in its path your gibbets stand,
Still clothed about with horrors of the night.”
April 18, 1882.
149
IV. THE DAY OF THANKSGIVING: AFTER THE EGYPTIAN WAR OF 1882.
Thank God for what, ye clerical conclave?
For corpses piled beneath the Eastern sky,
And wounded men whose one prayer is to die?
For blood and wrath and battle and the grave?
Now from church aisle and arched cathedral nave
Must sound of triumph-hymning float on high?
Nay, rather close the red book with a sigh,
And seek in sober calm the land to save.
For corpses piled beneath the Eastern sky,
And wounded men whose one prayer is to die?
For blood and wrath and battle and the grave?
Now from church aisle and arched cathedral nave
Must sound of triumph-hymning float on high?
Nay, rather close the red book with a sigh,
And seek in sober calm the land to save.
Ye priests, who now would make God such as ye,
Refrain,—and let the pale dead sleep in peace.
Let the white Eastern moon soar silently
Over the bloodied plains; let shouting cease.
Think you the hearts of watching angels glowed
When through dark ranks wet bayonets rent their road?
Refrain,—and let the pale dead sleep in peace.
Let the white Eastern moon soar silently
Over the bloodied plains; let shouting cease.
Think you the hearts of watching angels glowed
When through dark ranks wet bayonets rent their road?
Sept. 23, 1882.
151
VI. FOR VICTOR HUGO'S EIGHTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1883.
The skies have had their poets, and the flowers
Have had their poets, and the sea has heard
Passionate singing louder than of bird
Who chants amid the night's dim throbbing bowers.
Poets have sung of love's absorbing hours,
And battle has put in its fiery word,
And sorrow itself to sweetest song has spurred;—
The storms have had their singers, and the showers.
Have had their poets, and the sea has heard
Passionate singing louder than of bird
Who chants amid the night's dim throbbing bowers.
Poets have sung of love's absorbing hours,
And battle has put in its fiery word,
And sorrow itself to sweetest song has spurred;—
The storms have had their singers, and the showers.
But only one great soul has sung the whole
Of Nature and of Man, commensurate
With both of these, and touched song's loftiest goal;
One man has challenged Time and conquered Fate:
Hugo—who saw the century's sunrise glow,
Eighty and one majestic years ago.
Of Nature and of Man, commensurate
With both of these, and touched song's loftiest goal;
One man has challenged Time and conquered Fate:
Hugo—who saw the century's sunrise glow,
Eighty and one majestic years ago.
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VII. WILLIAM GOULDSTONE.
The man “sees red”. A man who slays wholesale—Makes his own hearthstone run with dripping gore,
And, having killed three children, seeks for more
To slaughter, doing a deed which turneth pale
E'en Love and Mercy 'neath the eternal veil
Of cloud whence white-winged pity and healing soar;
A man who brings the ravage of red war
Into his peaceful home, and then can hail
His own fierce-eyed intolerable deed
As a deliverance from his pressing woe;
The man who, when his own five children bleed
Before him, thinks that he has holpen so
Their mother:—if thou hang “till he be dead”
This madman, England—then thine eyes “see red!”
Sept. 20, 1883.
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