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 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
67
COWARD'S CASTLE.
Snug behind his towers and trenches,
Hid the robber chief of old,
Fat with spoil of flocks and wenches,
Torn from helpless farm and fold;
Curtained in his secret study,
Skulks at ease the robber now,
Known but by the footstep muddy,
Dirty hand and broken vow;
Revels in his paid impurity,
Truth defamed and falsehood's hint,
Daily from his safe obscurity,
Death distilling cheap in print.
Hid the robber chief of old,
Fat with spoil of flocks and wenches,
Torn from helpless farm and fold;
Curtained in his secret study,
Skulks at ease the robber now,
Known but by the footstep muddy,
Dirty hand and broken vow;
Revels in his paid impurity,
Truth defamed and falsehood's hint,
Daily from his safe obscurity,
Death distilling cheap in print.
Lurks anonymous the coward,
Sheltered by the Press with bars,
Shoots alike at Hodge and Howard,
Reckless whom his arrow scars;
If he can but sow confusion,
Steal the cripple's only crutch;
Fool some dupe with fond delusion,
Leave a nasty smell or smutch;
If he may behind his journal,
Throw in neighbours' ricks a spark,
Sneer at precious facts eternal,
Stab a brother in the dark.
Sheltered by the Press with bars,
Shoots alike at Hodge and Howard,
Reckless whom his arrow scars;
If he can but sow confusion,
Steal the cripple's only crutch;
Fool some dupe with fond delusion,
Leave a nasty smell or smutch;
If he may behind his journal,
Throw in neighbours' ricks a spark,
Sneer at precious facts eternal,
Stab a brother in the dark.
Ah, the knave, with evil unity
But in blots of poisoned pen,
Vents, beneath his veil's impurity,
Equal hate on God and men;
Strikes at every institution,
Hallowed by the love of years,
Leads a Church to execution—
Tempered with assassins' tears;
Draws bad bills upon futurity,
Others' wealth to labour doles,
Huddled in the rat's security,
Squirming from convenient holes.
But in blots of poisoned pen,
Vents, beneath his veil's impurity,
Equal hate on God and men;
Strikes at every institution,
Hallowed by the love of years,
Leads a Church to execution—
Tempered with assassins' tears;
Draws bad bills upon futurity,
Others' wealth to labour doles,
Huddled in the rat's security,
Squirming from convenient holes.
Writers, to make sixpence from it,
Give the soul to endless fire—
Dogs returning to their vomit,
Swine that wallow in the mire;
Cheat the blind man in his trusting,
While they grant the swindler sway,
Yet for some new mischief lusting—
Worms that riot in decay;
Just to make a week's sensation;
Splash the Throne with traitor's ink,
Kill a lady's reputation,
Sell an empire for a drink.
Give the soul to endless fire—
Dogs returning to their vomit,
Swine that wallow in the mire;
Cheat the blind man in his trusting,
While they grant the swindler sway,
Yet for some new mischief lusting—
Worms that riot in decay;
Just to make a week's sensation;
Splash the Throne with traitor's ink,
Kill a lady's reputation,
Sell an empire for a drink.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |