The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan :: :: University of Virginia Library

Cromwell, what soul denies thy claim
To honour in the Saxon's sight?
Thy spirit, like a stormy flame,
Still gleams through centuries of Night,
While Freedom's weeping eyes are bent
On deeds that are thy monument!

II

Thanks to thy ruthless sword and thee
Thy cruel creed is living yet,
And Christians still from sea to sea
Owe thee and thine a deathless debt;
With thee to light them through the land,
Famine and Faith walk'd hand in hand.

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III

Think not we scorn thee,—thou wast strong!
Think not we wrong thee,—thou wast great!
Thou sharest with the kingly throng
The aftermath of human Hate:
Among the thrones thy lightnings rent
Should surely be thy monument?

IV

Hot gospeller of bloody War,
Thy Cross became a slaughtering sword;
Thy Biblic thunders roll'd afar
The message of thy King and Lord,—
The wondering Nations heard thy cry—
‘Worship my God of Wrath, or die!’

V

Before thee, Tyrant, tyrants fell,
By thee, O King, a King was slain,—
Honest as Cain and true as Hell,
Scorner of mercy, thou didst reign;
With blood and tears thou didst cement
This Union, thy monument!

VI

Thy Throne was on a million graves,
O Christian monarch of the free;
The curse of sixty thousand slaves,
Torn from their homes and chain'd by thee,
From the plantations of the west
Arose, thy might to manifest!

VII

Even thus on History's bloodiest page
Thy name is written, King of men,—
And evermore from age to age
Thy seed of bigots springs again;
What needst thou further to content
Thy ghost, by way of monument?

VIII

The bigot's strength and faith were thine,
The bigot's creed that hates the sun,
And yet in Freedom's name divine
Thy bloody victories were won:
'Mong Monarchs keep thy place of pride,
With Charles's Spectre at thy side!

IX

Ask not the love our souls deny,
But take our homage if thou wilt,—
Thy gospel was a living lie,
Our blood was on thine altars spilt,—
Scourge by the God of Slaughter sent,
Be Drogheda thy monument!