The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hear this, ye idle nations, and be still;
Hear this, unstable children of revolt;
My voice is with you yet a little time.
I have worn out the marrow of my days
Unrecompensed, unreverenced; evermore
I am a broken life and dispossessed
Of filial adoration in my wane.
Ye run to any light and hail it guide,

Ye march for any ensign under heaven,
And learn rebellion with a bestial zeal;
Prone in contagion to a blinder doom
Ye perish from the precincts of the land.
Therefore have I been patient from disdain,
And slow to chide with weakness; I have made
Revenge forgiveness, when some wounded thing
Lay in the shadow of my sword to die.

Still I forgave and still ye vexed my soul
With wayward fluctuation, anarchies,
And panic tumults in the dead-ripe noon
Of cloudless safety. Ye are wholly seed
And stock of discord: I am weary now.
Leave me a little rest before I sleep.
Effort is food and honey to the young:
They breathe by action; but the old man folds
His mantle, storing breath in utter peace.

Consider, Heaven, that these have set my days
A discord, this my state a bitter thing,
And made my spirit hungry for repose.
Can they remake my cunning hours again,
Or build me ramparts from the dark event?
Pale is my sun: I care not to endure.

Is it a thing that ye are sway'd
By me who spake with minds of larger mould,
Sons of the silent years whose race is low,
Inheriting their wisdom to command?
Hereafter ye shall love me in the dust,
A late obedience, and desire my voice.
Then shall one speak above my crownless head,
“He hath ungirdled to his last repose
The sword of empire, but our after kings
Have shrunk to draw the blade and there it rusts.
And he was wise as the strong wise of eld,
No puny cackler: surely he had changed
The voice of council with the ancient wise,
And grew as these to council, who no more
Resume their strength and everlasting name.”
Thus in late years perchance effectual praise
Shall reach my mansion with the frequent dead.

I have accomplish'd empire to the verge
Of mortal change, and consecrate to peace
The moments of irresolute decay.
I fail the childless father of my realm:
My memory is my sole posterity,
My deed the stable land-mark of my name.
My work, my heir; so best, than if my race
In everlasting generation ruled
Unchallenged treasure thro' the forward years,
As gods, in firm abiding, dignified
With kingly works the children of their thought.

The old man withers: ye forget his power.
Have I not chain'd my rivals round my state,
And made the kings of nations, more than these,
Famish in burning purple for revenge?
Have I not laid an ordinance of doom
On all resistance, task'd my foes as slaves,
And link'd their functions to a thorny curse
Of sleepless renovation? Has this arm
Shrunk to extirpate in a mean remorse
The seed of alien armies, merciful
To my rebellious children's realm alone?
I led your hosts and I have spoken fire
To congregated phalanx, on the edge
Of conflict, swaying like wind-furrowed reeds:
My glance was as the lifting beam of day,
Numbering the faces in their van to die.

I am old now, dismantled and declined,
And stripling feet are itching to ascend
The steps of this imperial canopy.
Shall I speak false and smoothly at the last,
Cease with a recent lie between my teeth,
Die with a smiling falsehood on my face?
Shall I unspeak my nature for an hour?
Such as I am ye know me and have known.
Age is untutor'd to repeal defect,
And alteration pain in ancient eyes,
Pain to dethrone old purpose at the last,
Pain to untread the ordinance of years.
Be more obedient and forgive my scorn:
Somewhat I love this people that I scorn.
Behold I guess not to whose hand ye fall;
Obey him, prosper, leave my bones in rest.