 | Songs for Sailors |  |
TO OUR BROTHERS IN AMERICA TALKING OF WAR WITH US.
Yes, yes; we sent our armies forth
And dared to think war right, 'tis true;
But that was, brothers, 'gainst the North,
The despots' stay, not such as you;
Yet then we clung to peace, how long!
And almost truckled to the Czar,
And almost owned the right the wrong,
Rather than curse the world with war.
Now shall we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
And dared to think war right, 'tis true;
But that was, brothers, 'gainst the North,
The despots' stay, not such as you;
Yet then we clung to peace, how long!
And almost truckled to the Czar,
And almost owned the right the wrong,
Rather than curse the world with war.
Now shall we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
104
Too much of war before to-day,
Of mutual hate and loss we've had
That losing game again to play;
Oh, brothers, no, we're not so mad.
Shoulder to shoulder, you and we,
Twin boasts of liberty should stand;
The strength, the vanguard of the free,
The help of every fettered land.
And shall we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
Of mutual hate and loss we've had
That losing game again to play;
Oh, brothers, no, we're not so mad.
Shoulder to shoulder, you and we,
Twin boasts of liberty should stand;
The strength, the vanguard of the free,
The help of every fettered land.
And shall we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
What would the tyrants of the earth,
From German Prince to Russian Czar,
Think you, think such a struggle worth,
Where Freedom slew herself with War?
How would they laugh! full sure of this,
When every deadly blow was dealt,
Whoe'er it struck it could not miss
To be too well by Freedom felt.
What! we—we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
From German Prince to Russian Czar,
Think you, think such a struggle worth,
Where Freedom slew herself with War?
How would they laugh! full sure of this,
When every deadly blow was dealt,
Whoe'er it struck it could not miss
To be too well by Freedom felt.
What! we—we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
Too strong are you, by far, to need
To bluster of your power, and boast;
Too mighty we to care to heed
Taunts that but gall the weakest most.
History our gain from war can tell;
Yours too shall she in vain rehearse?
Let one begin this work of hell,
How soon we both that work shall curse.
What! shall we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
To bluster of your power, and boast;
Too mighty we to care to heed
Taunts that but gall the weakest most.
History our gain from war can tell;
Yours too shall she in vain rehearse?
Let one begin this work of hell,
How soon we both that work shall curse.
What! shall we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
105
Why should I fear some fools—how few!
Will goad us on with this poor fuss?
Their devil's work you will not do;
Their work shall not be done by us.
Your pride in us, we know, is such,
These fools' poor spite we need not fear;
And, friends, we glory far too much
In you to dare to hate you here.
What! we—we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
Will goad us on with this poor fuss?
Their devil's work you will not do;
Their work shall not be done by us.
Your pride in us, we know, is such,
These fools' poor spite we need not fear;
And, friends, we glory far too much
In you to dare to hate you here.
What! we—we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
O mighty freemen of the West!
O mightier, greater, yet to be!
He who from you for us would wrest
One right of yours, accursed be he!
You owe us much: how great your debt,
To you it need be told by none;
And cursed be they who would forget
The ties that make both nations one.
What! we—we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace! madmen, peace!
O mightier, greater, yet to be!
He who from you for us would wrest
One right of yours, accursed be he!
You owe us much: how great your debt,
To you it need be told by none;
And cursed be they who would forget
The ties that make both nations one.
What! we—we play the despots' game?
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace! madmen, peace!
Oh, shall mere trifles such as these,
For such a crime afford pretence?
To let this frenzy on us seize,
For such things, shows us void of sense.
No, leave them to some friend's award!
What if we lose? 'twere better far
Than if we won them with the sword—
The cursëd wickedness of war.
We will not play the despots' game;
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
For such a crime afford pretence?
To let this frenzy on us seize,
For such things, shows us void of sense.
No, leave them to some friend's award!
What if we lose? 'twere better far
Than if we won them with the sword—
The cursëd wickedness of war.
We will not play the despots' game;
Oh, let this senseless wrangling cease!
In blood, in rights, in tongue, the same,
We talk of war! Peace, madmen, peace!
1856.
| Songs for Sailors | |