The Battle-Day and Other Poems By Ernest Jones |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
|
|
Cries of the Nations.
|
|
|
|
| I. |
 | The Battle-Day and Other Poems |  |
99
Cries of the Nations.
101
LIBERTY.
Thy birthplace where, young Liberty?
In graves, 'mid heroes' ashes.
Thy dwelling, where, sweet Liberty?
In hearts, where free blood dashes.
In graves, 'mid heroes' ashes.
Thy dwelling, where, sweet Liberty?
In hearts, where free blood dashes.
Thy best hope where, dear Liberty?
In fast upwinging time.
Thy first strength where, proud Liberty?
In thine oppressor's crime.
In fast upwinging time.
Thy first strength where, proud Liberty?
In thine oppressor's crime.
Thy safety where, stray Liberty?
In lands where discords cease.
Thy glory where, bright Liberty?
In universal Peace.
In lands where discords cease.
Thy glory where, bright Liberty?
In universal Peace.
102
THE CRY OF THE RUSSIAN SERF TO THE CZAR.
“Labour! Labour! Labour!—Toil! Toil! Toil!
With the wearing of the bone and the drowning of the mind;
Sink, like shrivelled parchment, in the flesh-devouring soil!
Pass away unheeded, like the waving of the wind!
With the wearing of the bone and the drowning of the mind;
Sink, like shrivelled parchment, in the flesh-devouring soil!
Pass away unheeded, like the waving of the wind!
“Be the living record of a tyrant's bloody fame;
Form the trodden pathway for a conqueror's career;
Give your breath, ye millions! to elevate his name,
And die!—when ye have shouted it till centuries shall hear.
Form the trodden pathway for a conqueror's career;
Give your breath, ye millions! to elevate his name,
And die!—when ye have shouted it till centuries shall hear.
103
“By right divine we rule ye.—God made ye but for us—”
Thus cry the lords of nations to the slaves whom they subdue,
Unclasp God's book of nature: its writings read not thus.
Hear! Tramplers on the many!—Hear! Benders to the few!
Thus cry the lords of nations to the slaves whom they subdue,
Unclasp God's book of nature: its writings read not thus.
Hear! Tramplers on the many!—Hear! Benders to the few!
God gave us hearts of ardour,—God gave us noble forms,
And God has poured around us his paradise of light;
Has he bade us sow the sunshine, and only reap the storms?
Created us in glory, to pass away in night?
And God has poured around us his paradise of light;
Has he bade us sow the sunshine, and only reap the storms?
Created us in glory, to pass away in night?
No! say the sunny heavens, that smile on all alike;
The waves, that upbear navies, yet hold them in their thrall;
No! shouts the dreadful thunder, that teaches us to strike
The proud, for one usurping what the Godhead meant for all.
The waves, that upbear navies, yet hold them in their thrall;
104
The proud, for one usurping what the Godhead meant for all.
No! no!—we cry, united by our sufferings' mighty length,—
Ye—ye have ruled for ages—now we will rule as well;
No! No!—we cry, triumphant in our right's resistless strength,
We—we will share your heaven—or ye shall share our hell!
Ye—ye have ruled for ages—now we will rule as well;
No! No!—we cry, triumphant in our right's resistless strength,
We—we will share your heaven—or ye shall share our hell!
105
THE ITALIAN EXILE TO HIS COUNTRYMEN.
My countrymen! why languish
Like outcasts of the earth,
And drown in tears of anguish
The glory of your birth?
Ye were a freeborn people,
And heroes were your race:
The dead—they are our freemen—
The living—our disgrace.
Like outcasts of the earth,
And drown in tears of anguish
The glory of your birth?
Ye were a freeborn people,
And heroes were your race:
The dead—they are our freemen—
The living—our disgrace.
You bend beneath your fetters,
You fear your foes to spurn:
March! when you meet your betters
'Tis time enough to turn.
Undam the tide of freedom!
Your hearts its godlike source;
Faith, Honour, Right, and Glory
The currents of its course.
You fear your foes to spurn:
March! when you meet your betters
'Tis time enough to turn.
106
Your hearts its godlike source;
Faith, Honour, Right, and Glory
The currents of its course.
And were it death awaits ye,
On! Death is liberty.
Then quails the power that hates ye,
When freemen dare to die.
We call him not a Roman,
Who brooks to be a slave:—
An alien to his country,
And a mockery to the brave.
On! Death is liberty.
Then quails the power that hates ye,
When freemen dare to die.
We call him not a Roman,
Who brooks to be a slave:—
An alien to his country,
And a mockery to the brave.
Down with the cup, untasted!
Its draught is not for thee:
Its generous strength were wasted
On all but on the free.—
Turn from the altar, bondsman!
Nor touch a Roman bride.
What? Wouldst thou bear her blushing
For thee, at thine own side!
Its draught is not for thee:
Its generous strength were wasted
On all but on the free.—
107
Nor touch a Roman bride.
What? Wouldst thou bear her blushing
For thee, at thine own side!
Back from the church-door, Craven;
The great dead sleep beneath,
And liberty is graven
On every sculptured wreath!
For whom shall lips of beauty,
And history's tablets be?
For whom Heaven's crown of glory?
For the Free! the Free! the Free!
The great dead sleep beneath,
And liberty is graven
On every sculptured wreath!
For whom shall lips of beauty,
And history's tablets be?
For whom Heaven's crown of glory?
For the Free! the Free! the Free!
108
ONWARD AND UPWARD.
Right onward the river is rolling,
Its fountains are pulsing below,
And 'tis not in human controlling
To turn but a wave of its flow!
Its fountains are pulsing below,
And 'tis not in human controlling
To turn but a wave of its flow!
Right onward the freeman may ride it,
And speed in the light of its course;
For faction no more can divide it,
Nor dam it by cunning or force.
And speed in the light of its course;
For faction no more can divide it,
Nor dam it by cunning or force.
Right upward the oak-tree is growing,
Forth-waving its leaves in the sun,
And deep in the green earth is sowing
The seed of a forest to come.
Forth-waving its leaves in the sun,
And deep in the green earth is sowing
The seed of a forest to come.
109
Right upward are striving the nations
With high-throned corruption to cope,
Preparing for new generations
This earth for the harvest of hope.
With high-throned corruption to cope,
Preparing for new generations
This earth for the harvest of hope.
Right onward the breezes are blowing
The rise of the forest and wave:
And onward the great thoughts are going,
Upkindling the hearts of the brave.
The rise of the forest and wave:
And onward the great thoughts are going,
Upkindling the hearts of the brave.
110
THE COMING DAY.
The midnight hour is passing—the sunrise is at hand,
The watchers on the mountain tops are looking o'er the land,
The world is all expectant for the first grey streak of light,
Where morning's gentlest breath shall break the mighty walls of night;
Then through that riven rampart's path what glorious rays shall pour,
When all its fiery lances rush in golden torrents o'er!
One little cloud of all that mass need but be forced away,
And night's old palsied hand no more can stem the march of day.
Thus despots over Europe brood, and thus shall freedom rise,
Down-scattering with her mighty hand old mouldering tyrannies.
Needs but one timeworn prejudice be given to the wind,
And soon successive truths will pass the gateway of the mind;
For fallacy is ever placed upon perdition's brink,
And sinks the ground beneath her feet, when men begin to think.
Oh! soon across the darkened earth that glorious morn will rise,
That takes the shadow from the heart, the dew-drop from the eyes;
Then man shall cease for aye to bend before each sceptred clod,
The knee that God made pliant but to bend unto a God;
Then, leading with a father's sway our mighty brotherhood,
By “right divine,” co-equally, the wise shall guide the good,—
And prouder pomps be theirs than swell a vain imperial state,
More safe their open threshold prove, than tyrants' sentried gate.
Who dares assail their power must scale a wall that God has wrought,
A rampart-wall of honest hearts manned by one holy thought.
No need of gun or grenadier to guard them where they dwell,
For 'tis the people's self becomes their glorious citadel.
These are the throneless kings that lead the chainless nations on,
The mighty dynasts who have reigned like Tell and Washington.
Then force, and fraud its demon-twin, together fall and cease,
And tyranny's war-glory dies beneath the feet of Peace,—
While settling down through priestish graves, 'mid mosses grim and gray,
Dim Superstition buries these, and sighs and sinks away.
Then Fear shall aye be banished hence, and Love resume its place,
And Earth become one country vast, and man one household race,
And God, a household God, who dwells in every home and heart,
Not sought alone in piles of stone, encaged by monkish art!
The watchers on the mountain tops are looking o'er the land,
The world is all expectant for the first grey streak of light,
Where morning's gentlest breath shall break the mighty walls of night;
Then through that riven rampart's path what glorious rays shall pour,
When all its fiery lances rush in golden torrents o'er!
One little cloud of all that mass need but be forced away,
And night's old palsied hand no more can stem the march of day.
111
Down-scattering with her mighty hand old mouldering tyrannies.
Needs but one timeworn prejudice be given to the wind,
And soon successive truths will pass the gateway of the mind;
For fallacy is ever placed upon perdition's brink,
And sinks the ground beneath her feet, when men begin to think.
Oh! soon across the darkened earth that glorious morn will rise,
That takes the shadow from the heart, the dew-drop from the eyes;
Then man shall cease for aye to bend before each sceptred clod,
The knee that God made pliant but to bend unto a God;
Then, leading with a father's sway our mighty brotherhood,
By “right divine,” co-equally, the wise shall guide the good,—
112
More safe their open threshold prove, than tyrants' sentried gate.
Who dares assail their power must scale a wall that God has wrought,
A rampart-wall of honest hearts manned by one holy thought.
No need of gun or grenadier to guard them where they dwell,
For 'tis the people's self becomes their glorious citadel.
These are the throneless kings that lead the chainless nations on,
The mighty dynasts who have reigned like Tell and Washington.
Then force, and fraud its demon-twin, together fall and cease,
And tyranny's war-glory dies beneath the feet of Peace,—
113
Dim Superstition buries these, and sighs and sinks away.
Then Fear shall aye be banished hence, and Love resume its place,
And Earth become one country vast, and man one household race,
And God, a household God, who dwells in every home and heart,
Not sought alone in piles of stone, encaged by monkish art!
The watchers on the mountain tops are looking o'er the land,
The midnight hour is passing—the sunrise is at hand.
The midnight hour is passing—the sunrise is at hand.
| The Battle-Day and Other Poems | |