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64
A QUESTION.
England is proud. And France was proud; yet gaveHer honour to the keeping of a knave,
Sham Frenchman, sham Napoleon: huge the fault,
And harsh the penalty. If we exalt
A master-trickster to our chiefest place,
Sham Christian and sham Englishman,—is this,
When the world rocks, no chance for Nemesis
To hurl us into misery and disgrace?
We are no cowards,—“Nought shall make us rue,
If England to herself do prove but true”—
But think, speak, England! Dost thou, heart and soul,
Trust this man? and give him thy fate's control?
Nov. 1877.
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Too Practical to be thought of.
Let Pasha-rule perish sans pity;Make Constantinople Free-City;
All Europe supply a police
For preserving the federal peace;
There—and elsewhere, why not? Is this fighting
The sensible way of wrong-righting?
Else, what are these huge armies for?
Are most people thirsty for war?
Ah! Police might we have, and not “Policy,”
And of Statecraft the damnable folly see.
Patriotism.
Protean Selfishness puts on no guiseMore apt than “Patriotism” to blind our eyes:
Shall Briton, Frenchman, Russ, American,
Glory in things that would disgrace a Man?
Set your own Country foremost; work for her;
Hers to all private interests prefer:
But never dream that violence and fraud
In her name turn to praise and nobleness;
That lies are bad at home but good abroad;
That honour and fair dealing have a bound
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Wrong to another, or make his right less.
And after all this, recollect—there's Love.
Nay, Love comes first of all. But, look around!
In Snow.
O english mother, in the ruddy glowHugging your baby closer when outside
You see the silent, soft, and cruel snow
Falling again, and think what ills betide
Unshelter'd creatures,—your sad thoughts may go
Where War and Winter now, two spectre-wolves,
Hunt in the freezing vapour that involves
Those Asian peaks of ice and gulfs below.
Does this young Soldier heed the snow that fills
His mouth and open eyes? or mind, in truth,
To-night, his mother's parting syllables?
Ha! is't a red coat?—Merely blood. Keep ruth
For others; this is but an Afghan youth
Shot by the stranger on his native hills.
1878.
[With pseudo-monarchy and creed]
With pseudo-monarchy and creed,
How can a Nation still succeed?—
By giving these but little heed.
How can a Nation still succeed?—
By giving these but little heed.
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It tries to steer by common-sense,
While keeping up a huge pretence
Of loyalty and reverence.
While keeping up a huge pretence
Of loyalty and reverence.
It sweeps the road-ways of the state:
But Lies o'erhead accumulate,—
At last an avalanche of fate.
But Lies o'erhead accumulate,—
At last an avalanche of fate.
Words and Deeds.
The soldier's boast—to meet, unmoved, Death's eye.
Allow that Zulu men know how to die,
Fighting against the spoiler in their land;
The savage virtue which they highest hold
They practise well; no lions half so bold.
But other virtues, too, we understand,
Being Englishmen and Christians; counting good
Justice, Unselfishness, and Brotherhood,—
Nay, best. We know the way to talk of things.
Allow that Zulu men know how to die,
Fighting against the spoiler in their land;
The savage virtue which they highest hold
They practise well; no lions half so bold.
But other virtues, too, we understand,
Being Englishmen and Christians; counting good
Justice, Unselfishness, and Brotherhood,—
Nay, best. We know the way to talk of things.
O God! are we the cruellest of hordes,
With deadliest weapons and with falsest words
Of any race the quiet moon enrings?
With deadliest weapons and with falsest words
Of any race the quiet moon enrings?
1879.
[England! leave Asia, Africa, alone]
England! leave Asia, Africa, alone,And mind this little country of thine own.
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[To do such dreadful work, not merely coin]
To do such dreadful work, not merely coinWe bribe them with, but monstrous flattery join,
Make Honour and Glory their especial meed
Whose trade is bloodshed; as if they indeed
Were patriots, heroes, manhood's flower, and not
At best the venal substitutes for those,
At worst the savage unremorseful foes
Of justice, pity, love, all in man's lot
That's more than bestial,—ready at the click
Of alien will which has the word or trick
To set this order'd violence astir,
This myriad hangman, or else murderer.
O there are victories, the which to name
Calls into brave men's cheeks the blush of shame.
[Heroic Chili! Brave Peru!]
Heroic Chili! Brave Peru!The glorious deeds of arms ye do
By some new Homer should be sung.
What quarrel doth this rage inspire?
They settle thus by blood and fire
Which shall sell most of seagull's dung.
1880.
[Have Nations human consciences? If so]
Have Nations human consciences? If soWhat sinners!—demons, if you answer no.
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To a Primrose.
Simple rustic Flow'r, in theeEmblem of our BEN we see;
Had'st thou not before been known
By his tomb thou must have grown,
And some new Ovid sung of this
Lovely metamorphosis;
Fragrant wilding, artless blossom,
Fit for every Tory bosom!
[The English Nation is my vexation]
The English Nation is my vexation,The French is twice as bad,
Germany she bothers me,
And America drives me mad!
[A poet sits at ease]
A poet sits at ease
Before his study-fire;
Gently warms his knees,
And heaps the fuel higher.
Before his study-fire;
Gently warms his knees,
And heaps the fuel higher.
Without, the storm-wind blows;
Within, how calm it is!
Books stand round in rows;
Few more famed than his.
Within, how calm it is!
Books stand round in rows;
Few more famed than his.
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The Poet fills his glass
And lights a fresh cigar;
In words more firm than brass
He sings the praise of War.
And lights a fresh cigar;
In words more firm than brass
He sings the praise of War.
Blood he would not spill,
Stroke deal, save with pen;
He to-night shall kill
Fifty thousand men;
Stroke deal, save with pen;
He to-night shall kill
Fifty thousand men;
Villages and towns
Burn in his study fire;
Tune to women's groans
And children's shrieks, his lyre.
Burn in his study fire;
Tune to women's groans
And children's shrieks, his lyre.
Mild the Poet's eyes;
Murderous his song;
Supporting ancient lies,
Confusing right and wrong.
Murderous his song;
Supporting ancient lies,
Confusing right and wrong.
German he, or French,
Or English, matters not,—
Would his cheek might blench
Ere the page he blot;
Or English, matters not,—
Would his cheek might blench
Ere the page he blot;
From beyond the stars
Hearing “He whose breath
Blows the flame of wars,
Merits bloody death!”
Hearing “He whose breath
Blows the flame of wars,
Merits bloody death!”
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Mother Shipton.
When John's great elephant is sold,When London streets have grass for gold,
When spades go up and swords go down,
When hats are worn without a crown,
When crowds are fed without a feast,
When pray'rs are said without a priest,
When ringdoves laugh and foxes weep,
Then shall poor men sow and reap.
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