 | Voices and visions |  |
156
ANNORUM RECENTIORUM
157
THE PHILIPPINE PURCHASE
We that believed thee and loved thee, despite multitudinous errors,
Can we forgive, O Republic, thy deep degradation to-day?
Thou that hast boasted of freedom from talons of tyranny wrested,
Thou to turn tyrant thyself, and their freedom from others despoil!
Can we forgive, O Republic, thy deep degradation to-day?
Thou that hast boasted of freedom from talons of tyranny wrested,
Thou to turn tyrant thyself, and their freedom from others despoil!
Thus canst thou mock thine own valour, and all the chill hand-clasps of anguish
There in that blaze of rebellion whence England recoiled with fatigue?
Was it for this that thy loathing the rancours of slavery slaughtered?
Thus canst thou waste thine Antietam? Thy Gettysburg squander disfamed?
There in that blaze of rebellion whence England recoiled with fatigue?
Was it for this that thy loathing the rancours of slavery slaughtered?
Thus canst thou waste thine Antietam? Thy Gettysburg squander disfamed?
Once through the harp of thine honour great winds of democracy wandered,
Straining to thunders aeolian the strength of its eloquent strings.
Why unto earth hast thou flung it and shattered the might of its music?
Why from the oak of its framework hast lighted the bonfires of greed?
Straining to thunders aeolian the strength of its eloquent strings.
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Why from the oak of its framework hast lighted the bonfires of greed?
Spirits of Washington, Lincoln, and throngs of thy patriot helpers,
Quicken their dust at thine outrage and scan thee with spectral rebuke;
Faithless Republic, thou quenchest the stars that have burned on thy banners,
Leaving the stripes but as emblems of scorn that thy body should bear!
Quicken their dust at thine outrage and scan thee with spectral rebuke;
Faithless Republic, thou quenchest the stars that have burned on thy banners,
Leaving the stripes but as emblems of scorn that thy body should bear!
Thou that for safeguard and shelter from stains of monarchial stigmas
Fledst where new skies might envault thee, new breezes pour balm on thy breast,
Thou to dare envy the ravage of empire that once thou contemnedst,
Craving with terrible famine thine own Finlands, Polands, and Cretes!
Fledst where new skies might envault thee, new breezes pour balm on thy breast,
Thou to dare envy the ravage of empire that once thou contemnedst,
Craving with terrible famine thine own Finlands, Polands, and Cretes!
Thou that hast loomed for thy lovers in wisdom's large warless aloofness,
Thou that wert so statuesquely the world's one republic erewhile,
Thou to stretch arms across ocean, where far-away Philippines cluster,
Babbling the shibboleths ancient of ‘destiny,’ ‘progress’ and ‘trade’!
Thou that wert so statuesquely the world's one republic erewhile,
Thou to stretch arms across ocean, where far-away Philippines cluster,
Babbling the shibboleths ancient of ‘destiny,’ ‘progress’ and ‘trade’!
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Name it by what name thou choosest—protectiveness, guidance, or pity,
Suzerainty's resolute vigil, fraternity's bountiful aid;
Lust for the lucre of conquest and arrogance trampling the vanquished—
These are the names that thy barter should glare with while truth remains truth.
Suzerainty's resolute vigil, fraternity's bountiful aid;
Lust for the lucre of conquest and arrogance trampling the vanquished—
These are the names that thy barter should glare with while truth remains truth.
Ah, the old story—we know it! From king-beguiled priest-ridden Europe,
On through the ages it echoes: the weak overswept by the strong—
Vultures of plunder and cunning, in ‘civilisation's’ false plumage,
Fierce for the signs to dismantle its flesh from slain liberty's bones!
On through the ages it echoes: the weak overswept by the strong—
Vultures of plunder and cunning, in ‘civilisation's’ false plumage,
Fierce for the signs to dismantle its flesh from slain liberty's bones!
1901.
160
THE ENIGMA
Sweeps of mellowing prairie, soaked with suns and rains;
Breadths of patriarch forest never an axeblow stains;
Wreaths of radiant rivers, marged with fecund soil;
Miles of houseless farmland, hungering for man's toil;
Troops of sovereign mountains, rich with precious ore;
Droves of game that scamper, flocks that float or soar;
Nature's hand so bounteous!—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
Breadths of patriarch forest never an axeblow stains;
Wreaths of radiant rivers, marged with fecund soil;
Miles of houseless farmland, hungering for man's toil;
Troops of sovereign mountains, rich with precious ore;
Droves of game that scamper, flocks that float or soar;
Nature's hand so bounteous!—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
Factories crammed with craftsfolk, deft at spools and looms;
Mines where grisly thousands delve in sullen glooms;
Fields where stalwart scythemen crop the lissome wheat;
Seas where tawny fishers urge the fruitful fleet;
Bred and reared and slaughtered, swarms of swine and kine;
Orchards orbed with apples, grapes that whelm their vine;
Largess poured from Labour!—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
Mines where grisly thousands delve in sullen glooms;
Fields where stalwart scythemen crop the lissome wheat;
Seas where tawny fishers urge the fruitful fleet;
Bred and reared and slaughtered, swarms of swine and kine;
Orchards orbed with apples, grapes that whelm their vine;
Largess poured from Labour!—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
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In the mightiest city that our New World rears
Bribery stalking lawless, justice choked with jeers;
Washingtonian Senates fouled by guileful tricks;
Halls of court and council smeared with politics;
Money and honour fighting—strong that fights with frail;
Patriotism at auction, statesmanship for sale;
Civic avarice rampant—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
Bribery stalking lawless, justice choked with jeers;
Washingtonian Senates fouled by guileful tricks;
Halls of court and council smeared with politics;
Money and honour fighting—strong that fights with frail;
Patriotism at auction, statesmanship for sale;
Civic avarice rampant—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
School, asylum and sick-house yet forlornly few;
Mercy in anguish pleading for the dole her due;
Throngs of ragged children lean from famine's irk;
Many a sturdy workman craving honest work;
Widow and orphan helpless, age from comfort shorn;
Dark disease rank-flowering where in filth 'twas born;
Plenty and want still battlers—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
Mercy in anguish pleading for the dole her due;
Throngs of ragged children lean from famine's irk;
Many a sturdy workman craving honest work;
Widow and orphan helpless, age from comfort shorn;
Dark disease rank-flowering where in filth 'twas born;
Plenty and want still battlers—Yet (whate'er it means!)
Twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars, twenty million dollars
For the Philippines!
162
AMERICAN IMPERIALISM
Avert, my country, from thine ear the voice
That urges empire as thy chance or choice.
Shame on the demagogues who plan thy doom
Till foul with sophistries their senates fume.
No sibyl yet among thy natal stars
Hath leagued thy destiny with kings and czars.
What boon or bourne could flattering conquest pledge
Thee whose enormity two oceans edge?
Nay, when at last, war's hells of gloom withdrawn,
White peace brings daybreak whiter than earth's dawn,
Set Cuba free, if such thy civic mood,
Yet claim no tribute save her gratitude.
Quit Asian waves; let Europe's prides and spleens
Bicker like minnows round the Philippines.
Tell Spain what heartless tactics thy soul shuns
Of Alexanders and Napoleons;
Reveal to her there is one land this hour
Lured by no lust of territorial power;
Teach her thy troops (though churlish be her thanks)
Have drummed old veteran Greed from out their ranks.
That urges empire as thy chance or choice.
Shame on the demagogues who plan thy doom
Till foul with sophistries their senates fume.
No sibyl yet among thy natal stars
Hath leagued thy destiny with kings and czars.
What boon or bourne could flattering conquest pledge
Thee whose enormity two oceans edge?
Nay, when at last, war's hells of gloom withdrawn,
White peace brings daybreak whiter than earth's dawn,
Set Cuba free, if such thy civic mood,
Yet claim no tribute save her gratitude.
Quit Asian waves; let Europe's prides and spleens
Bicker like minnows round the Philippines.
Tell Spain what heartless tactics thy soul shuns
Of Alexanders and Napoleons;
Reveal to her there is one land this hour
Lured by no lust of territorial power;
Teach her thy troops (though churlish be her thanks)
Have drummed old veteran Greed from out their ranks.
Flaunt not, Republic, from thy victory won
Coarse triumphs to the unsympathetic sun.
Hermit of nations let them call thee still;
Hermits at least for bloodshed have no will.
Agrarianism in menace let them cite;
Vast houseless plains thy tillage yet invite.
For lordlier commerce let them prate and plead—
Meaning monopoly's brute maw to feed. ...
Dear land, whose promises were half divine,
Shalt thou to deeps of sordidness decline?
About the calms and grandeurs of thy shape
Tradition's purples deign once more to drape.
Vulgar imperialism should vainly thrall
Thee whose ideals were so imperial.
The gladdest pæan of battle, thou shalt own,
Has merely for its echo an orphan's moan;
Though mightful be the warrior's pluck or grit,
The widow's heartbreak may outmeasure it.
A thousand slaughterous fields thou shouldst command
Hereafter, but with unensanguined hand;
A thousand batteries where the foe fights hard
Thy cannonades of wisdom should bombard.
And when to science and intellect low bow
The last of all the inimic legions, thou
Monarchical for motherhood mayst be,
Gathering thy children round thy mighty knee.
Coarse triumphs to the unsympathetic sun.
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Hermits at least for bloodshed have no will.
Agrarianism in menace let them cite;
Vast houseless plains thy tillage yet invite.
For lordlier commerce let them prate and plead—
Meaning monopoly's brute maw to feed. ...
Dear land, whose promises were half divine,
Shalt thou to deeps of sordidness decline?
About the calms and grandeurs of thy shape
Tradition's purples deign once more to drape.
Vulgar imperialism should vainly thrall
Thee whose ideals were so imperial.
The gladdest pæan of battle, thou shalt own,
Has merely for its echo an orphan's moan;
Though mightful be the warrior's pluck or grit,
The widow's heartbreak may outmeasure it.
A thousand slaughterous fields thou shouldst command
Hereafter, but with unensanguined hand;
A thousand batteries where the foe fights hard
Thy cannonades of wisdom should bombard.
And when to science and intellect low bow
The last of all the inimic legions, thou
Monarchical for motherhood mayst be,
Gathering thy children round thy mighty knee.
How falls it, O my country, that the schemes
Of avarice tempt with these ignoble dreams?
Would that my verse, in hatred of such wrong,
Might flash from every line a sword of song!
Would that my words, this madness to arraign,
Were squadrons and battalions of disdain!
Would that my grief might drown, for untold years,
This rash fatuity with tides of tears!
Yet few the bards from whose firm lips are borne
Miltonic thunder, Juvenalian scorn;
And in thy peril fate allots my strain
Only the weak prerogative of pain. ...
Yet still this unction to unrest I lay—
The shadow hath stolen, but it will not stay.
For now, even now, while doubt and dread are sore,
I hear strange melodies wax more and more,
That bode through all my spirit's listening scope
Tempestuous music from the harp of hope!
Of avarice tempt with these ignoble dreams?
Would that my verse, in hatred of such wrong,
Might flash from every line a sword of song!
Would that my words, this madness to arraign,
Were squadrons and battalions of disdain!
164
This rash fatuity with tides of tears!
Yet few the bards from whose firm lips are borne
Miltonic thunder, Juvenalian scorn;
And in thy peril fate allots my strain
Only the weak prerogative of pain. ...
Yet still this unction to unrest I lay—
The shadow hath stolen, but it will not stay.
For now, even now, while doubt and dread are sore,
I hear strange melodies wax more and more,
That bode through all my spirit's listening scope
Tempestuous music from the harp of hope!
July 1898.
165
THE SULTAN'S JUBILEE
Strange are these plaudits thy foul reign begets,
When fitlier all Gehenna might discuss
With glee demoniac thine iniquitous
Annals of agonies and bloody sweats.
Insurgently the soul of progress frets
To mark eulogium's blasphemy deck thus
Thy City of Shame, where the blue Bosphorus
Reduplicates her domes and minarets.
When fitlier all Gehenna might discuss
With glee demoniac thine iniquitous
Annals of agonies and bloody sweats.
Insurgently the soul of progress frets
To mark eulogium's blasphemy deck thus
Thy City of Shame, where the blue Bosphorus
Reduplicates her domes and minarets.
Murder and slavery at thy jubilee
Shall riot unseen—the assassinated shapes
Of many a martyr wail unheard their woes!
And when thy revel is done, Polygamy
Shall guide thee at dawn, gross Abdul, where sin drapes
With poisonous purples thy seraglios!
Shall riot unseen—the assassinated shapes
Of many a martyr wail unheard their woes!
And when thy revel is done, Polygamy
Shall guide thee at dawn, gross Abdul, where sin drapes
With poisonous purples thy seraglios!
166
TO NIKOLA TESLA
If power and confidence were wed as one
In thy bold search o'er that far heavenward track,
Renown as dominant thou shouldst not lack
As all that fable on her dim loom hath spun.
Thou shouldst be held in high communion
With him Caucasian agonies did wrack;
With Atlas, pondering Earth on his huge back;
Or even Apollo, charioting the sun.
In thy bold search o'er that far heavenward track,
Renown as dominant thou shouldst not lack
As all that fable on her dim loom hath spun.
Thou shouldst be held in high communion
With him Caucasian agonies did wrack;
With Atlas, pondering Earth on his huge back;
Or even Apollo, charioting the sun.
Yet ah, too venturous, though man's toil may wrest
Rich ores and gems from his dull globe's domain
And bid their smothered light subservient shine,
What mortal here, when spiritual his quest,
Hath pick or spade that shall not quarry in vain
Those blue vaults of Eternity's vast mine?
Rich ores and gems from his dull globe's domain
And bid their smothered light subservient shine,
What mortal here, when spiritual his quest,
Hath pick or spade that shall not quarry in vain
Those blue vaults of Eternity's vast mine?
167
LINCOLN LOQUITUR
I
Sternly the spirit of Lincoln speaks from the vague inane:‘Hear me and heed, O my children, me for the love of you slain!
Whence is the wild war-madness, thralling your brains and souls?
Where have your footsteps wandered, scornful of wisdom's goals?
Was it for this that my starlight glittered while hurricanes raved?
Was it for this that I served you? Was it for this that I saved?
How should your impulse and purport lapse to such paltrier gain?
Hear me and heed, O my children, me for the love of you slain!
II
‘When amid frenzies of faction shuddered and shouted our land,Slavery's curse from its annals tore I with terrible hand.
Postured sublimely unselfish, earth should envisage at last
You, the one perfect Republic, found after venturings vast.
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Fervid with dreams of your future, high as my haughtiest hope.
Such was your prophesied splendour. ... Weak does it falter and wane?
Hear me and heed, O my children, me for the love of you slain!
III
‘What of the bondsmen I rescued? Can ye so lightly forgetWrong that of old was their durance, wrong that to-day is your debt?
These from the blight of their bondage have ye upraised so supreme
That in remote isles of ocean others ye fain would redeem?
Yonder, unbarred from debasement, scourged by the lashes of caste,
Look to your true “Filipinos,” heirs of an infamous past!
Let not your lips laud as martyr him whom your actions profane;
Hear me and heed, O my children, me for the love of you slain!’
September 1899.
169
INGERSOLL DEAD
What ails the blue of day, the mirth of birds,
The pomps of dawn and evening, the high calms
Of night's miraculous gardens flowered with stars?
Why sobs the ocean sadlier, and why laugh
Less jocundly its bright innumerous lips?
What spell hath stolen the emerald from the turf,
And made the majesty of mountains loom
Lowlier?
The pomps of dawn and evening, the high calms
Of night's miraculous gardens flowered with stars?
Why sobs the ocean sadlier, and why laugh
Less jocundly its bright innumerous lips?
What spell hath stolen the emerald from the turf,
And made the majesty of mountains loom
Lowlier?
It is the loss that sears our souls;
It is not nature sorrowing; it is we!
Nature, in mindless mechanism superb,
Neither laments nor yet doth she rejoice.
Nay, she but takes the tints, chameleon-wise,
Of our own agony, while we stretch void arms
For him that yesterday sublimely was!
It is not nature sorrowing; it is we!
Nature, in mindless mechanism superb,
Neither laments nor yet doth she rejoice.
Nay, she but takes the tints, chameleon-wise,
Of our own agony, while we stretch void arms
For him that yesterday sublimely was!
August 1899.
170
THE AMERICAN ELECTIONS
November 8, 1898
Sweet urn of poesy by Petrarca wrought,
The lily or rose of his rare love to rear,
Presumptuous do I choose thy sculptures clear
To shrine this gaudier passion-flower of thought.
Still, though in petal and calix it is fraught
With fire whose vehemence might scorch and sear,
Even hate hath moods when she is love's compeer,
When sorrow an equal task to both has taught.
The lily or rose of his rare love to rear,
Presumptuous do I choose thy sculptures clear
To shrine this gaudier passion-flower of thought.
Still, though in petal and calix it is fraught
With fire whose vehemence might scorch and sear,
Even hate hath moods when she is love's compeer,
When sorrow an equal task to both has taught.
Nay, wert thou not, my country, dear through dower
Of acts that diamond from thine annals glow,
To applaud or to upbraid thee were as one.
But now? Ah, shame for lust of needless power,
Shame for gross treachery to a fallen foe,
Shame for this rank jeer at thy Washington!
Of acts that diamond from thine annals glow,
To applaud or to upbraid thee were as one.
But now? Ah, shame for lust of needless power,
Shame for gross treachery to a fallen foe,
Shame for this rank jeer at thy Washington!
171
PRIDE OF NATIONS
Pride of nations, work your will
While its powers are in their prime,
Hedge it round with tact and skill,
Paint it fair in prose and rhyme;
Tinge it gaudier than the slime
That red battlefields distil;
Stain it with the gold you spill
Brighter than the daffodil;
Work your will; yet—War is crime.
While its powers are in their prime,
Hedge it round with tact and skill,
Paint it fair in prose and rhyme;
Tinge it gaudier than the slime
That red battlefields distil;
Stain it with the gold you spill
Brighter than the daffodil;
Work your will; yet—War is crime.
Pride of nations, work your will;
Bid its fiery meanings chime
With an epic charm sublime—
Teach your eloquence to thrill
Gathered throngs in many a clime;
Wrest from words, ‘Thou shalt not kill,’
Their appropriate sense, until
Conscience, grown a dexterous mime,
Raiments good in robes of ill—
Work your will; yet—War is crime.
Bid its fiery meanings chime
With an epic charm sublime—
Teach your eloquence to thrill
Gathered throngs in many a clime;
Wrest from words, ‘Thou shalt not kill,’
Their appropriate sense, until
Conscience, grown a dexterous mime,
Raiments good in robes of ill—
Work your will; yet—War is crime.
172
Pride of nations, work your will—
Cleanliness was never grime;
Chaste the woodland's crystal rill;
Gross the swine and rank the swill;
Pure the pasture's clustering thyme;
Foul the swamp and fresh the hill—
Pride of nations, work your will;
Save all heaven's fleet stars grow still,
One stern truth shall bide through time:
War is crime.
Cleanliness was never grime;
Chaste the woodland's crystal rill;
Gross the swine and rank the swill;
Pure the pasture's clustering thyme;
Foul the swamp and fresh the hill—
Pride of nations, work your will;
Save all heaven's fleet stars grow still,
One stern truth shall bide through time:
War is crime.
173
TO ZOLA IN EXILE
Weaver of tales that thrill the world
With fearless fact in art's rare guise,
What wonder your disdain is hurled
On treason's labyrinth of lies?
With fearless fact in art's rare guise,
What wonder your disdain is hurled
On treason's labyrinth of lies?
Nay, from your own proud fame you tore
The safe insignia of its pride,
And chose the brand your country bore
In patriot passion to deride.
The safe insignia of its pride,
And chose the brand your country bore
In patriot passion to deride.
All wars you loathe, but chiefly these
Where scorpion guile would sting and fell;
And when your pitying spirit sees
Poor Dreyfus in his island hell,
Where scorpion guile would sting and fell;
And when your pitying spirit sees
Poor Dreyfus in his island hell,
Old memories haunt you, crimson-streaked
With brute mediæval brawls of class,
With martyrdoms insanely wreaked
On Ghetto and on Judenstrasse.
With brute mediæval brawls of class,
With martyrdoms insanely wreaked
On Ghetto and on Judenstrasse.
‘Give this man liberty,’ you cry,
‘Reft of its boon by rogue and cheat,’
While starlike burns your poignant eye
Through fogs of forgery and deceit.
‘Reft of its boon by rogue and cheat,’
While starlike burns your poignant eye
Through fogs of forgery and deceit.
174
But ah, too idly falls your breath
(With mercy, entreaty, wisdom rife)
On souls for whom steel, blood and death
Are creeds and litanies of life.
(With mercy, entreaty, wisdom rife)
On souls for whom steel, blood and death
Are creeds and litanies of life.
Zola, the France wherewith you wrest
Adores to-day at hate's black shrine;
Sedan still rankles in her breast,
She drinks revenge's dizzying wine.
Adores to-day at hate's black shrine;
Sedan still rankles in her breast,
She drinks revenge's dizzying wine.
Vainly doth Justice rear the scales
Your grand zeal strives to poise aright.
Alas, the heavier sword prevails;
The honour of your land weighs light!
Your grand zeal strives to poise aright.
Alas, the heavier sword prevails;
The honour of your land weighs light!
Still, bide your time, with droopless brow;
In pain and exile, bide your time; ...
This France you love hath known ere now
Repentances that were sublime.
In pain and exile, bide your time; ...
This France you love hath known ere now
Repentances that were sublime.
Truth groans already in its drugged sleep;
Your haughtiest foes fate snares and slaves;
The mirk and mire they dig so deep
Are their own ignominious graves!
Your haughtiest foes fate snares and slaves;
The mirk and mire they dig so deep
Are their own ignominious graves!
September 1898.
175
AFRICA AD EUROPAM
Here for milleniads my immensityHath cloven the waters of the world and stretched
South from that sea of story and song to where
Welter, like thresholds of the infinite,
Surges that break upon the Antarctic Pole.
Ere through the granite of my loins had thronged
Sphinxes and obelisks that once were Thebes,
Were Karnak, I was old in memories.
The Pyramids are but my yesterdays;
The Ptolemies that many an age have lain
Shrivelling among their spice and linens, count
Only as upstarts from the soil I clasp.
And yet thou, Europe, wouldst invade me thus,
Thou that from Norway sheer to Greece my realm
Could compass, while it spared for surplusage
A continent Australia ill might match!
Why hast thou left me not, O Malcontent,
Sovereign of this my heritage from time?
Barbarian though I be, barbarianism
Is part and parcel of me, my nature's growth,
Heightening toward phases that the future stores
In mystery. Not by hest and hurry of thine
Should bud to flower be forced, or flower to fruit.
Nay, long I have watched thee from afar, with stare
Of wonderment, thou Europe, whose past swarms
176
Of avarice, pride, voluptuousness, deceit
I have gazed on with abhorrence, thou to uplift
My savages, who hast thyself scarce found
Humanitarianism's mere fundaments!
Look to thine England, soaked in pauperdom;
Look to thy France, democracy's burlesque;
Look to thy Germany, a swagger of swords;
Look to thine Austria, torn with feuds and spites;
Thine Italy, a braggadocio armed;
Thy Spain, a corpse on horseback, like her Cid!
Thou thus to have lessoned me, thou riot of spleens,
Wrangling since Attila! Why hast thou dared
Pour this the mockery of thy tutelage
Among my lions and serpents and gazelles,
My deserts where thy London were a speck,
My forests that in gloom could sepulchre
Scores of thy Parises, my leagues of lakes,
My majesties of mountains, my repose
Of pampa or swamp, whose flat rims cleave the flames
Dawn lights or sunset lulls, my glory and grace
Of rivers, and my cataracts—altars raised
Heavenward in scintillance, with haze of pearl
For incense? Fain my Genius would attend
Undesecrate the centuries' doles of doom,
Here girt with swarthy myriads, men like thine.
Fain unmolestedly would I live out
The individuality of my lot.
Thou hast achieved thy destiny. For me
It flares all folly and failure. I mine own
Would solve unmarred. Back, tamperer, to thy brawls!
177
THE BATTLE SONG OF PEACE
I saw, in a dream of the years to be, how Peace, with her gaze aglow,
Shall throne herself on a throne too firm for earthquakes to overthrow.
Shall throne herself on a throne too firm for earthquakes to overthrow.
I heard how the chords of her great gold harp shall wait on her white hand's flash,
With music now like the break of a brook and now like the whirlwind's crash.
With music now like the break of a brook and now like the whirlwind's crash.
Then her voice, in my vision, skyward soared, with sublimity of release,
And she sang me her song that the world awaits. 'Twas the Battle Song of Peace.
And she sang me her song that the world awaits. 'Twas the Battle Song of Peace.
‘Day had come. Fate spoke. No tarriance, now; no manœuvre of shift and screen;
Only two vast armies face to face, with a vast bare plain between.
Only two vast armies face to face, with a vast bare plain between.
‘Ere the reddening east from startled stars their last vague silver stole,
I unsheathed my sword, bade our clarions play and our drums defiance roll.
I unsheathed my sword, bade our clarions play and our drums defiance roll.
178
‘At the enemy's lines full speed we plunged; they marked us, intent to spring;
And then, while the lurid sun lurched up, did our battle reel and ring.
And then, while the lurid sun lurched up, did our battle reel and ring.
‘My troops of Charity massed their might as the great gales mass the tide,
And shoulder to shoulder poured hot shot on the ranks of Civic Pride.
And shoulder to shoulder poured hot shot on the ranks of Civic Pride.
‘With homespun serge o'er their stout young hearts, my hordes of Humanity dashed
At the dainty and picked-out clans of Caste, white-gauntleted, silken-sashed.
At the dainty and picked-out clans of Caste, white-gauntleted, silken-sashed.
‘Sharpshooters all were the soldieries of Ambition, Hate and Greed;
They sidled rearward, they slipped like snakes, while scattering deadly seed.
They sidled rearward, they slipped like snakes, while scattering deadly seed.
‘But the Warriors Born were bolder far; they pushed us with haughty stress,
Till shelled by our batteries on the heights, from Fort Loving-Kindliness.
Till shelled by our batteries on the heights, from Fort Loving-Kindliness.
‘To Order and Wisdom and Law, staunch Aides, I would murmur my brief commands,
And lightning-like would they leap to obey through our smoke-entangled bands.
And lightning-like would they leap to obey through our smoke-entangled bands.
179
‘The Makers of Money from Politics were a cohort fierce and foul,
But our Makers of Money from Honest Toil held chat with them, cheek by jowl.
But our Makers of Money from Honest Toil held chat with them, cheek by jowl.
‘The Cut-Throats Commercial were firm at first, but we routed them till they ran,
With our big battalions of Peace on Earth, our brigades “Good Will to Man.”
With our big battalions of Peace on Earth, our brigades “Good Will to Man.”
‘Then at last from a woodside's muffling boughs, on their steeds that reared and neighed,
The Scorners of Arbitration rushed, an imperious cavalcade.
The Scorners of Arbitration rushed, an imperious cavalcade.
‘“Have at them!” I heard old Justice cry, through the fitful dins and flares,
And his horsemen, bannered “Thou Shalt not Kill,” came thundering thick on theirs.
And his horsemen, bannered “Thou Shalt not Kill,” came thundering thick on theirs.
‘All the air clashed, roared; it was wrath against wrath, it was frenzy with frenzy at bay;
They were fighting to keep the whole world in their clutch; we were fighting to tear it away.
They were fighting to keep the whole world in their clutch; we were fighting to tear it away.
‘In our strength we trusted, yet dared not exult, for we knew them a host grim, strong;
And we knew that though ours was the right, still the right had too oft been crushed by the wrong.
And we knew that though ours was the right, still the right had too oft been crushed by the wrong.
180
‘So the turmoils of onslaught grew terribler yet, while from zenith to verge day passed,
And I wondered its globe did not pause for sheer awe, and like Joshua's watch us aghast.
And I wondered its globe did not pause for sheer awe, and like Joshua's watch us aghast.
‘But by eve strife ended; the conquest was ours; all opponents that yet lived had fled. ...
As I leaned on my sword in the dimness I heard many voices that called “War is Dead.”
As I leaned on my sword in the dimness I heard many voices that called “War is Dead.”
‘Then they brought me to where archangelic he lay, on a sweep of the blood-soaked sod,
With the hilt of a shattered blade in his hand, with the brows and brawn of a god.
With the hilt of a shattered blade in his hand, with the brows and brawn of a god.
‘And I stooped, stung by pity, beside his grand form, while the zephyrs of twilight veered south,
And I that am woman, I, Peace, laid my lips on his cruel and beautiful mouth.
And I that am woman, I, Peace, laid my lips on his cruel and beautiful mouth.
‘And I said: “Throw about him the purples of pomp: let his tomb like a king's be built;
Let the fame of his courage be legended clear, but forbear to emblazon his guilt.”
Let the fame of his courage be legended clear, but forbear to emblazon his guilt.”
‘Nay, to them that grouped round me with marvelling looks, from the deeps of my pity I said:
“Though alive I have loathed him through thousands of years, thus I pardon him now, being dead!”‘
“Though alive I have loathed him through thousands of years, thus I pardon him now, being dead!”‘
181
THE YELLOW DANGER
O Europe, that so long hath spent thy spleen
In tough trans-barrier battlings, till no peace
Has thriven secure, from Denmark sheer to Greece,
Past all thy heavens of hills and grandeurs green,
Beware this menace, dire and unforeseen,
That big with rally of onslaught, ere it cease,
Calamitous through thy lands, at fate's caprice,
Mongolian millions wildly would convene!
In tough trans-barrier battlings, till no peace
Has thriven secure, from Denmark sheer to Greece,
Past all thy heavens of hills and grandeurs green,
Beware this menace, dire and unforeseen,
That big with rally of onslaught, ere it cease,
Calamitous through thy lands, at fate's caprice,
Mongolian millions wildly would convene!
Half yours the blame, Britannia, and half yours,
Omnivorous Russia, since your greeds dared wake
These torpid swarms to furious flame of ill!
Yet shun Japan's conciliatory lures,
Lest she, the old kith of China, turn and make
This loathsome Yellow Danger yellower still!
Omnivorous Russia, since your greeds dared wake
These torpid swarms to furious flame of ill!
Yet shun Japan's conciliatory lures,
Lest she, the old kith of China, turn and make
This loathsome Yellow Danger yellower still!
July 1900.
182
SOCIALISM
Mould me a thousand men who shall together bide
Harmoniously for ten staunch years, whate'er betide.
Let them to love's large creed secure obedience bring;
From envy and malice freed, from egotism's cold sting,
Let them to avarice, pride and fraud unwavering challenge fling.
Harmoniously for ten staunch years, whate'er betide.
Let them to love's large creed secure obedience bring;
From envy and malice freed, from egotism's cold sting,
Let them to avarice, pride and fraud unwavering challenge fling.
Let them, in reverent mood, each for the other toil,
One mutual gain of good their victory and their spoil.
With neither plaint nor pause, though strenuous tasks dismay,
To self-surrendering laws let them allegiance pay;
Let them break bread with life the ideal fraternal way.
One mutual gain of good their victory and their spoil.
With neither plaint nor pause, though strenuous tasks dismay,
To self-surrendering laws let them allegiance pay;
Let them break bread with life the ideal fraternal way.
When these ten crucial years have proved these thousand men
Impervious to all jeers of sarcasm's tongue or pen,—
Have watched them struggle uncowed for honour's height and might,—
Let faith's glad lips cry loud, ‘I have seen, with raptured sight,
Sepulchral darkness flower at last in pure prophetic light!’
Impervious to all jeers of sarcasm's tongue or pen,—
Have watched them struggle uncowed for honour's height and might,—
Let faith's glad lips cry loud, ‘I have seen, with raptured sight,
Sepulchral darkness flower at last in pure prophetic light!’
183
Yet while the unravelled skein of human wrong persists,
Even such weak test were vain, precipitate Socialists!
The goals your gaze descries prodigious barriers block;
Till your Utopias rise, great throes our world shall shock.
The hours are centuries long on hope's millennial clock.
Even such weak test were vain, precipitate Socialists!
The goals your gaze descries prodigious barriers block;
Till your Utopias rise, great throes our world shall shock.
The hours are centuries long on hope's millennial clock.
184
THE CZAR'S MESSAGE
Wake from a thousand thunderbolts one crash
Win from a thousand lightning-strokes one flash
Revive, in ravages of blasts and rains,
The uproar of a century's hurricanes;
Let earthquake, locked by slumber from alarms,
Yawn yet again with subterranean arms;
Bid pest and famine riot anew; make all
A single concentrated blow to appal
Our world;—and still such magnitude of might
Were weak beside the amazement, the affright,
The opprobrium, eulogy, disdain or joy
Wrought in an hour by this Imperial Boy.
Win from a thousand lightning-strokes one flash
Revive, in ravages of blasts and rains,
The uproar of a century's hurricanes;
Let earthquake, locked by slumber from alarms,
Yawn yet again with subterranean arms;
Bid pest and famine riot anew; make all
A single concentrated blow to appal
Our world;—and still such magnitude of might
Were weak beside the amazement, the affright,
The opprobrium, eulogy, disdain or joy
Wrought in an hour by this Imperial Boy.
From lands that despotism and slavery sear,
What means his heavenly heart-cry, pealing clear?
Aghast we marvel at the work so grand
That fate's miraculous mystery hath planned.
Though oft her whims be wayward, sharp her shocks,
Why daze us with such dizzying paradox? ...
Is this the Russia that we knew erewhile,
Knouts in her frown and sabres in her smile?
Whose ruffian dynasty of sovereigns rose
Crime-crowned and ermined by Siberian snows?
Whose thrones were scaffolds, and who shaped her laws
Taloned with terror, like her bear's black paws?
In galleries of whose palaces would lurk
Assassination with its butchering dirk?
The rubies of whose Urals were not more
Than blood-drops on her torture-chamber's floor?
Whose halls of justice were a dungeon's hells,
Whose juries were its Moujik sentinels?
Whose Alexanders, Katharines, Pauls, Ivàns
Gave every sin full freedom, yet slew man's?
What means his heavenly heart-cry, pealing clear?
Aghast we marvel at the work so grand
That fate's miraculous mystery hath planned.
Though oft her whims be wayward, sharp her shocks,
Why daze us with such dizzying paradox? ...
Is this the Russia that we knew erewhile,
Knouts in her frown and sabres in her smile?
Whose ruffian dynasty of sovereigns rose
Crime-crowned and ermined by Siberian snows?
185
Taloned with terror, like her bear's black paws?
In galleries of whose palaces would lurk
Assassination with its butchering dirk?
The rubies of whose Urals were not more
Than blood-drops on her torture-chamber's floor?
Whose halls of justice were a dungeon's hells,
Whose juries were its Moujik sentinels?
Whose Alexanders, Katharines, Pauls, Ivàns
Gave every sin full freedom, yet slew man's?
Ah, never yet, sage history, hast thou known
Figs thus from thorns or grapes from thistles grown!
In vain, philosophy, shall thy best lore
This radiant inconsistency explore!
Yet even as through a swamp's dark reek of mire
Some lily of taintless petal may aspire,
So climbs through tyranny's gross mirk and bane
The power and splendour of a soul humane.
At last we read on destiny's dim scroll
What empire may an emperor control,
And thrilled through earth's five continents we see
An autocrat's divine autocracy.
Heed it or scorn, ye kings whose prides and fears
With death have barricaded your frontiers;
Heed it or scorn, abuzz like broods of gnats,
Ye deft and oleaginous diplomats;
Heed it or scorn, ye money-gorging mess,
Who coin from slaughter your percentages;
Heed it or scorn, ye politicians wise,
Who garb self-worship in a patriot's guise;
Heed it or scorn, ye concourse near and far,
Who feast like vultures on the woes of war,
And quaff with thirst unsated from their flood
Inebriant vintages of tears and blood!
Heed it or scorn. ... Howe'er with subtlest mien
Procrastination on her crutch may lean;
Howe'er expediency, like some coy lass,
May attitudinise before her glass;
Howe'er sly sophistry, with leer of ice,
Clicks or manipulates his loaded dice;
Howe'er all hindrance, massed and interblent,
Grow mountainous in its impediment,
Still shall this Message, rich with sacred cheers,
Lend ardour to the iconoclastic years,
And bid them, at some future hour's glad reign,
Cleanse from all nations' brows the Brand of Cain.
Figs thus from thorns or grapes from thistles grown!
In vain, philosophy, shall thy best lore
This radiant inconsistency explore!
Yet even as through a swamp's dark reek of mire
Some lily of taintless petal may aspire,
So climbs through tyranny's gross mirk and bane
The power and splendour of a soul humane.
At last we read on destiny's dim scroll
What empire may an emperor control,
And thrilled through earth's five continents we see
An autocrat's divine autocracy.
Heed it or scorn, ye kings whose prides and fears
With death have barricaded your frontiers;
Heed it or scorn, abuzz like broods of gnats,
Ye deft and oleaginous diplomats;
Heed it or scorn, ye money-gorging mess,
Who coin from slaughter your percentages;
Heed it or scorn, ye politicians wise,
Who garb self-worship in a patriot's guise;
186
Who feast like vultures on the woes of war,
And quaff with thirst unsated from their flood
Inebriant vintages of tears and blood!
Heed it or scorn. ... Howe'er with subtlest mien
Procrastination on her crutch may lean;
Howe'er expediency, like some coy lass,
May attitudinise before her glass;
Howe'er sly sophistry, with leer of ice,
Clicks or manipulates his loaded dice;
Howe'er all hindrance, massed and interblent,
Grow mountainous in its impediment,
Still shall this Message, rich with sacred cheers,
Lend ardour to the iconoclastic years,
And bid them, at some future hour's glad reign,
Cleanse from all nations' brows the Brand of Cain.
Oct. 4, 1898.
187
ANARCHY
Out of your own black records, reeking with shame and sham,
Ye have wrought me, O nations of Europe, the leprous thing that I am.
Ye have wrought me, O nations of Europe, the leprous thing that I am.
Aloof in humanity's twilight, where kings and gods were as one,
I was born like the swine that wallow, like the moles that slink from sun.
I was born like the swine that wallow, like the moles that slink from sun.
Raw feudalism begot me, with shuddering fear for mate;
I was rocked in my cradle by squalor and my swaddling-gear was hate.
I was rocked in my cradle by squalor and my swaddling-gear was hate.
Through the dark mediæval decades, forgot amid mirk and ruck,
An infant, a giant, a monster, despair from its dugs gave me suck.
An infant, a giant, a monster, despair from its dugs gave me suck.
I was earthy and yet was I spirit, demoniac and yet was I meek,
While the vulture of degradation in my vitals would plunge its beak.
While the vulture of degradation in my vitals would plunge its beak.
188
Even thus lying helpless, I waited, alone with my fiery tears,
Unaware how I won slow vigour from the stealthy and strengthening years.
Unaware how I won slow vigour from the stealthy and strengthening years.
Yet the pageants of history passed me as I writhed in my lair of mud,
All their purples of arrogance flaunted, and their crimsons ablaze with blood.
All their purples of arrogance flaunted, and their crimsons ablaze with blood.
I beheld how the backs of the people were branded with scar upon scar
From the curses of caste, from the curses of greed, from the curses of war.
From the curses of caste, from the curses of greed, from the curses of war.
And at last I arose, I exulted, with my hardihood fostered of time,
An Anguish by anguish made potent, a Crime procreated by crime.
An Anguish by anguish made potent, a Crime procreated by crime.
If ye ask me my purport what boots it your heed on my answer to hang?
Do they question the cobra where found he the venom that leaps from his fang?
Do they question the cobra where found he the venom that leaps from his fang?
Can ye tear the foul fume from corruption, or cleanse from dishonour the stain?
To a tiger your logic is lifeless, to a viper your maxims are vain.
To a tiger your logic is lifeless, to a viper your maxims are vain.
189
When ye slay in your own souls their evil, my infamies then shall ye slay;
I am sin that man sinned through the ages; I am sin that he still sins to-day.
I am sin that man sinned through the ages; I am sin that he still sins to-day.
And like dews below noons I shall perish, when shall perish from lands that they mar
The curses of caste and the curses of greed and the curses of war.
The curses of caste and the curses of greed and the curses of war.
And while these are yet regnant and rampant, in my veins their vile spell shall not die;
Nay, while these o'er the world loom colossal, the shadow of them shall be I!
Nay, while these o'er the world loom colossal, the shadow of them shall be I!
October 20, 1898.
190
THE FORBIDDEN CITY
Not holy of holies were your sitting name—
Profanest of profanities were best,
O lair whence long toward heaven hath reeked the pest
Of crime concentrate, of sequestered shame!
But now spoliation pours its tardy flame
On garden, temple and throne with equal zest;
Violation poniards now through each rash breast
The inviolabilities you dare to claim.
Profanest of profanities were best,
O lair whence long toward heaven hath reeked the pest
Of crime concentrate, of sequestered shame!
But now spoliation pours its tardy flame
On garden, temple and throne with equal zest;
Violation poniards now through each rash breast
The inviolabilities you dare to claim.
So, City of Arrogance, your vauntful sway
Hath vanished from below the insulted sky
That long too leniently endured its den.
And lo, you have learned at last in what sure way
Nations that scorn their fellow-nations die,
Cursed like the men who scorn their fellow-men.
Hath vanished from below the insulted sky
That long too leniently endured its den.
And lo, you have learned at last in what sure way
Nations that scorn their fellow-nations die,
Cursed like the men who scorn their fellow-men.
1900.
191
PEACE INDIGNANT
I weary of all this moving to and fro,
This welcome and exile, thraldom and release.
To-day I am throned a queen; to-morrow, lo,
My dignities lie whelmed in overthrow—
From sovereignty my crown and sceptre cease.
This welcome and exile, thraldom and release.
To-day I am throned a queen; to-morrow, lo,
My dignities lie whelmed in overthrow—
From sovereignty my crown and sceptre cease.
Shame, bitter shame, ye people of ampler mind,
My shivering spirit now to wrench and rack,
As once, in thought's dim twilight, centuries back,
While plaintless to barbarianism resigned,
I bore your ribaldries demoniac.
My shivering spirit now to wrench and rack,
As once, in thought's dim twilight, centuries back,
While plaintless to barbarianism resigned,
I bore your ribaldries demoniac.
Hope dawned for me when Egypt, India, Greece
Flowered out from brutish darkness, and when Rome
At her wise councils gave me help and home—
Nay, built me as Divinity of Peace
Temples with pillared porch and stainless dome.
Flowered out from brutish darkness, and when Rome
At her wise councils gave me help and home—
Nay, built me as Divinity of Peace
Temples with pillared porch and stainless dome.
Yet ah, she worshipped me in name—no more!
Her smoking tripods were the flare of fools,
Her homage was the speech an idiot drules;
She blotched my robes with desecrating gore,
With battle invaded my pure vestibules.
Her smoking tripods were the flare of fools,
Her homage was the speech an idiot drules;
She blotched my robes with desecrating gore,
With battle invaded my pure vestibules.
192
At last in its immensity Rome fell,
Scourged of the Christ whose lash was love alone. ...
I reared my head, bound firmer my gold zone,
And murmuring to my glad heart ‘All is well,’
Dreamed that war's foul vans were for ever flown.
Scourged of the Christ whose lash was love alone. ...
I reared my head, bound firmer my gold zone,
And murmuring to my glad heart ‘All is well,’
Dreamed that war's foul vans were for ever flown.
Mockery of promise! I have proved, since then,
With pain whose ache dealt many a throb and pang,
Those perfidies whence my delusion sprang;
I have learned how ‘peace on earth, good will to men’
With but the hypocrisy of braggarts rang.
With pain whose ache dealt many a throb and pang,
Those perfidies whence my delusion sprang;
I have learned how ‘peace on earth, good will to men’
With but the hypocrisy of braggarts rang.
What wonder that from these tumultuous veins
Meekness and tolerance alike ye scare,
O giddy and greedy nations that still dare
To insult your Prince of Peace, through all his fanes,
With sarcasms and with blasphemies of prayer?
Meekness and tolerance alike ye scare,
O giddy and greedy nations that still dare
To insult your Prince of Peace, through all his fanes,
With sarcasms and with blasphemies of prayer?
Nay, mother and wife and daughter, how shall fail
Your agony while hideous hates intrigue
To fire it, and so fiercely against it league? ...
For me, my pity and wrath and scorn prevail,
Even though I falter with a god's fatigue.
Your agony while hideous hates intrigue
To fire it, and so fiercely against it league? ...
For me, my pity and wrath and scorn prevail,
Even though I falter with a god's fatigue.
193
THE FALLEN CAMPANILE
As one that draws the drapery from a face
Where some great painter's power hath sought to crush
The souls of lily and rose in one rare blush
Of heavenly womanhood, I seem to trace
Ethereal hands that tenderly displace
Memory's dull veils, till o'er my spirit rush
Tumultuous dreams of Venice, with her flush
Of beauty and pomp, her grandeurs robed in grace.
Where some great painter's power hath sought to crush
The souls of lily and rose in one rare blush
Of heavenly womanhood, I seem to trace
Ethereal hands that tenderly displace
Memory's dull veils, till o'er my spirit rush
Tumultuous dreams of Venice, with her flush
Of beauty and pomp, her grandeurs robed in grace.
Folded for ever by the sweet caress
Of arms that from the blue auxiliar sea
Glide up to engird and clasp her as their own,
O flower of cities, with pale palaces
And glitter of waves for petals, can it be
That time thy glorious crest hath overthrown?
Of arms that from the blue auxiliar sea
Glide up to engird and clasp her as their own,
O flower of cities, with pale palaces
And glitter of waves for petals, can it be
That time thy glorious crest hath overthrown?
September 1902.
194
THE NEGRO LYNCHINGS
Blacker the crime, I grant, than his black skin,
O ye who hale him to hot penances.
And yet he is man—though bestial, still is man,
And law was made for man, however large
May tower his turpitude. The strength and right
Of Justice in her scales and bandaged eyes
Hold sanctuary, and when from hand or brow
Ye ravish these, the insignia of her rule,
Forthwith ye have turned her fragile as a reed.
Throne in her place Revenge, if so ye will,
With torture for its minion. What avails?
O ye who hale him to hot penances.
And yet he is man—though bestial, still is man,
And law was made for man, however large
May tower his turpitude. The strength and right
Of Justice in her scales and bandaged eyes
Hold sanctuary, and when from hand or brow
Ye ravish these, the insignia of her rule,
Forthwith ye have turned her fragile as a reed.
Throne in her place Revenge, if so ye will,
With torture for its minion. What avails?
Lo, placid History plucks ye by the sleeve. ...
Who is this monster that your blasts of wrath
Buffet so furiously? Bid patience track
With rearward look his paths of pedigree.
In Africa, through shades of giant fern,
To some near verge of ocean spired with palms,
A youth strayed careless from his playfellows,
When suddenly ambushed captors leapt on him,
And felled his body, and leashed his limbs, and gagged
His mouth, and rowed him where a bark hugged shore—
That scorpion of the sea, their slave-ship! Here
In filth and fetor many a night and day
Of anguish did he toss, moan, supplicate.
Then came release, though slavery brought its boon!
And on through generations born of him
Did slavery linger. Who but knows the tale?
Whittier's melodious muse hath sung it us,
The oratory of Summer phrased it us,
The guns of Grant and Sherman roared it us,
And yet with mightier meaning than all these,
The martyrdom of Lincoln left it us!
A zephyr, and not a whirlwind, shall we reap
When once we have sown the wind? Who dares to dream
That ignorance and abasement breed their kind
Unsmirched? O ye that with the autocracy
Of lawlessness would cloak yourselves, beware!
Punishment shorn of justice rates ye all
A bevy of mere assassins, who defame
The freedom that your sires' blood-sacrifice
Inviolable should keep.
Who is this monster that your blasts of wrath
Buffet so furiously? Bid patience track
With rearward look his paths of pedigree.
In Africa, through shades of giant fern,
To some near verge of ocean spired with palms,
A youth strayed careless from his playfellows,
When suddenly ambushed captors leapt on him,
And felled his body, and leashed his limbs, and gagged
195
That scorpion of the sea, their slave-ship! Here
In filth and fetor many a night and day
Of anguish did he toss, moan, supplicate.
Then came release, though slavery brought its boon!
And on through generations born of him
Did slavery linger. Who but knows the tale?
Whittier's melodious muse hath sung it us,
The oratory of Summer phrased it us,
The guns of Grant and Sherman roared it us,
And yet with mightier meaning than all these,
The martyrdom of Lincoln left it us!
A zephyr, and not a whirlwind, shall we reap
When once we have sown the wind? Who dares to dream
That ignorance and abasement breed their kind
Unsmirched? O ye that with the autocracy
Of lawlessness would cloak yourselves, beware!
Punishment shorn of justice rates ye all
A bevy of mere assassins, who defame
The freedom that your sires' blood-sacrifice
Inviolable should keep.
Ah, yes, we know
Your grievance to its hideous depth and height.
But these no longer are the days that robe
Precipitate passion with spectacular
Tinsels of dignity. Each thrust of blade,
Each glittering fagot, each lewd jeer ye deal
The swart bound wretch who shrieks his vile life mute,
Infects your own souls with his bane of sin,
Rebrutalises there the brute benumbed
By civilisation, drags ye darkly back
To savagery whence life hath striven to steer
Your destinies, and swathes with ruffian fog
The august gold orb of wisdom's pilot star.
Your grievance to its hideous depth and height.
But these no longer are the days that robe
Precipitate passion with spectacular
Tinsels of dignity. Each thrust of blade,
Each glittering fagot, each lewd jeer ye deal
The swart bound wretch who shrieks his vile life mute,
Infects your own souls with his bane of sin,
196
By civilisation, drags ye darkly back
To savagery whence life hath striven to steer
Your destinies, and swathes with ruffian fog
The august gold orb of wisdom's pilot star.
197
THE OLD CENTURY TO THE NEW
While feebly at last in my great soul has burned
That flame whose full resplendence did confer
Far mightier meeds than thrones and miniver
On generations that have here sojourned,
Oh thou, toward whose bright face hope's tides are turned,
I feel thy warm palm in this cold clasp stir,—
Cold as the long walls of that sepulchre
Where many a dead forefather lies inurned.
That flame whose full resplendence did confer
Far mightier meeds than thrones and miniver
On generations that have here sojourned,
Oh thou, toward whose bright face hope's tides are turned,
I feel thy warm palm in this cold clasp stir,—
Cold as the long walls of that sepulchre
Where many a dead forefather lies inurned.
Farewell! I have sought with majesty to bear
My sceptre; shames and wrongs I have sought to kill;
Knowledge to feed;—lend virtue hardier girth.
Go, therefore, thou, mine offspring and mine heir;
With boons and benedictions costlier still,
Go grandly forth and greet the awaiting earth.
My sceptre; shames and wrongs I have sought to kill;
Knowledge to feed;—lend virtue hardier girth.
Go, therefore, thou, mine offspring and mine heir;
With boons and benedictions costlier still,
Go grandly forth and greet the awaiting earth.
December 1900.
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