Poems Real and Ideal :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou hast set free the slaves o' the world! With pride thou boastest
That Freedom follows upon thy keels where'er thou coastest:
The strength o' the seas is thine.
The free wind whistles through thy copses that front sea-ward,
And yet the clank of chains thou hearest, looking meward,
And not thy wild wind's voice in fir and pine.

288

II

Thy slaves are free, and yet thy dark-haired grey-eyed sister
Thou, blue-eyed, golden-haired, though oft thy lips have kissed her
In sister-seeming wise—
Thou guardest as in prison. Each low-browed common varlet
Of thine hath now the right, if he be clothed in scarlet,
To stare his brutal coarse soul down her eyes.

III

Her thou hast yielded up, by thy true mood forsaken.
At any corner of street her shoulder may be shaken
By rough and menial hands.
She, once so fair, is now downstricken of heart and bloomless:
Her fields of corn and grass are sheenless and flower-plumeless:
She, once the fairest, now is least of lands.

289

IV

Her mountain-streams run red. In green she used to garb her:
But now her soft green fields and sun-bright mountains harbour
But two wild bands indeed,
Pursuers and pursued,—the hunters and the hunted.
She dares not raise her brow: it shines so crimson-fronted.
England has bled. But does not Ireland bleed?

V

Gifts thou hast given. And yet the gift of all gifts never.
Give her her own green fields for ever and for ever!
Give, with no grudging hand!
Now thou hast traversed all the earth, and all dark places
Hast lightened somewhat, pour some light on Irish faces.
Turn from the ends of the earth to thine own land.

290

VI

Turn from the China seas and Japanese strange waters:
Turn from the task of freeing far India's dusky daughters:
Turn homeward, now at length.
Give unto us the thing that we through wild years long for;
The gift that now at last our hearts and hands are strong for;
Give,—if it be but token of thy strength.

VII

By all thine English hills and every English river,—
By the far fields of fight wherein with shock and shiver
Thy sword and lance have met
The sword and lance of far slave-holding state and city,—
Let now thy soul, near home, be roused to love and pity.—
Thou hast done great deeds. Do one deed greater yet.

291

VIII

Do one deed greater yet than all thy history showeth,
Though this with strong great deeds brims o'er and over-floweth.
Give liberty to me.—
Our creeds are not the same in outward passing semblance:
Yet are we both fair lands in God's most high remembrance,
And circled, both, by God's vast slaveless sea.

IX

Thou hast stricken off the chains of nation after nation:
Thy bayonets fill far lands with hope and exultation;
They fill our homes with woe.
Bulgarian hands to thee stretch out in prayer and find thee:
Greece seeks thee not in vain. O England, look behind thee!
How far afield thy love and succour go!

292

X

Thou hearest if a serf in Russia groans in bondage.
Or if in Poland blood dyes pavement or wet frondage
Thou startest up fierce-eyed.
Yet blood for years has poured upon our hills and meadows:
Groans fill the morning air, and fill the evening shadows.
Thou listenest; then dost lightly turn aside.

XI

Thou art upon the road to Ind or Madagascar.
Thou hast heard the cry of some poor tortured dark-skinned lascar.
To Borneo thou art bound.
Thou hast a Burmese war on hand: or Boers, it may be,
Must be set free—(In God's great true name, why should they be,—
While still our coupling-irons strike the ground?)

293

XII

Thou hast within thy House of free debate to settle
Whether thine arms shall test the Zulus' warlike mettle,
Or try the Afghans' steel.
Thou hast to pass a bill to guard the gulls and widgeons,
Or to protect the poor blood-stained ill-treated pigeons.—
Thou hast no time to give to our appeal.

XIII

Then when in wild despair we strike, not knowing whither
Our random blows may fall, thou sendest armed men hither
As if to possess the land.
Thou lookest in my eyes. Yes: they are blood-shot truly.
Thou lookest at my robe. Yes: it is blood-stained newly.
Yes: drops of English blood run down my hand.

294

XIV

Yes.—Then thou draggest away whole hosts of men to prison.
Next lo! in town and town the black trees have arisen,
An evil growth by night.
Blood still cries out for blood, and slaughter leads to slaughter.
Injustice is the sire, and murder is the daughter;
She with the crimson hand, and face quite white.

XV

So it goes on, and will, till thou at length beholdest
The inner truth of things, and thine own flag unfoldest
Above the Irish walls.
For thine is Freedom's flag: but that black deadly other
Grim flag to us thou givest that telleth that another
Blood-stained misjudged misjudging patriot falls.

295

XVI

Of all the world's strange things it will be deemed hereafter
Most strange, that English hearts with ring of martial laughter
Fought all the world around
For Freedom's sake,—yet fought at home still more to enslave her
Their sister, when they should have given their souls to save her:
Freed dark arms,—left their white-armed sister bound.

XVII

Scotland!—Yes: she was free—the land of rock and thistle.
But thou hast trained her sons to follow at thy whistle:
We are not such as they.
A race is ever a race. A nation is a nation.
No power on earth can join in close amalgamation
Two differing races; for one must obey.

296

XVIII

Try plan on novel plan: expedient on expedient.
Still one must conqueror be; the other race obedient;—
Keen swords must threaten or kill.
All schemes have but one end. Oh, make an end of scheming!
Lo! Ireland waits to be twofold in outward seeming,
Then for the first time one in heart and will.

XIX

We have fought side by side. The Irish legions stood thee
In right good stead full oft. Their wild-pulsed strength renewed thee
Fainting at Waterloo.
And on Crimean hills they shed their life-blood willing.
No French or Russian hand our heart's-blood now is spilling:
This was reserved for English hands to do.

297

XX

We wait, and in the end shall triumph. But we sorrow
That the great priceless boon might be conferred to-morrow,
Yet blood on blood must flow
(It seems) ere thou canst wake to see that gifts but madden,
Make bad things worse, enrage and grieve and sting and sadden,
When with the gifts the bullet-cases go.

XXI

Thou art not strong but weak, while we are weak. Thine island
Needs guards and watchers now in city, in wood, on highland,
Lest red deeds spring to light.
Strike off our chains and thou wilt strike a thousand fetters
From thine own limbs as well, and write in golden letters
Thy name upon our hearts renewed and bright.

298

XXII

Our weakness is thine own. Our strength will be thy glory.
Lo! while our arms are red, England, thine own are gory,
And while our weapons shine
Thine dare not seek their sheath. For thine own sake deliver!
When women's laughter rings by Irish lake and river
Fearless, thou wilt be free, proud sister mine!

March, 1883.