 | Voices and visions |  |
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.
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