 | The Emperor's Vigil, and The Waves And The War |  |
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Waifs.
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I. Signs of Glory.
What talk ye to Britons of star and cross,
And medals and badges bright?
An Englishman fights not for idle dross,
But for honour, and glory, and right.
And medals and badges bright?
An Englishman fights not for idle dross,
But for honour, and glory, and right.
Let milliner-soldiers their ribands boast,
And struggle their clasps to win:
An Englishman's breast is plain and bare,
But the heart of a hero's within.
And struggle their clasps to win:
An Englishman's breast is plain and bare,
But the heart of a hero's within.
No need to write on it, “This man is brave”—
For where is a Briton is not?
Each one would have done the selfsame deed,
Had he stood on the selfsame spot.
For where is a Briton is not?
Each one would have done the selfsame deed,
Had he stood on the selfsame spot.
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He seeks no badge but the goodly sign
That glows where Honour lives:
The scar he gained in the battle's line
Is the star that Glory gives.
That glows where Honour lives:
The scar he gained in the battle's line
Is the star that Glory gives.
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II. Calls to Battle.
Go! flutter your eagles aloft on the wind
In the hands of the bond and thrall:
One soft timid sigh of the sister I love
Shall lead me beyond them all.
In the hands of the bond and thrall:
One soft timid sigh of the sister I love
Shall lead me beyond them all.
Go! shatter the echoes with trumpet and drum,
And summon your slaves to the fray:
To think of one smile of the girl of my heart,
Shall carry me farther than they.
And summon your slaves to the fray:
To think of one smile of the girl of my heart,
Shall carry me farther than they.
Go! call on the name of the monarch and priest;
But England speaks nobler to me—
To think that I strike for its poorest and least,
Will make me strike deeper than ye.
But England speaks nobler to me—
To think that I strike for its poorest and least,
Will make me strike deeper than ye.
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Go! let all your prelates in proudest array
Bid crouching battalions depart:
But what is it all to a single prayer
That soars from my mother's heart?
Bid crouching battalions depart:
But what is it all to a single prayer
That soars from my mother's heart?
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III. Helping Hands.
And has it come to this at length,
That those who England sway,
Must overlook our native strength
For weakness far away?
That those who England sway,
Must overlook our native strength
For weakness far away?
And doubting o'er the foeman's shock,
Not trusting in our own,
Must strive to piece the British rock
With bits of meaner stone?
Not trusting in our own,
Must strive to piece the British rock
With bits of meaner stone?
Oh! woe betide the evil hour,
And curse the craven part,
When English hands shall lack the power
To guard an English heart!
And curse the craven part,
When English hands shall lack the power
To guard an English heart!
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Thrice welcome be each honest friend
Who lifts a knightly lance,
With England's lion line to blend
Piedmont or gallant France.
Who lifts a knightly lance,
With England's lion line to blend
Piedmont or gallant France.
With him our path to fame shall be,
With him our soldier's grave;
For England loves the comrade free,
And spurns the hireling knave.
With him our soldier's grave;
For England loves the comrade free,
And spurns the hireling knave.
But woe betide the evil hour,
And curse the craven part,
When English hands shall lack the power
To guard an English heart.
And curse the craven part,
When English hands shall lack the power
To guard an English heart.
Give me the man who strikes for right,
Not him who kills for gold:—
The flags that heroes bore in fight,
Unfit is he to hold.
Not him who kills for gold:—
The flags that heroes bore in fight,
Unfit is he to hold.
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A penny less, a penny more,
His cause and country make:—
Not such the men we sought of yore
To fight for England's sake.
His cause and country make:—
Not such the men we sought of yore
To fight for England's sake.
Oh! woe betide the evil hour,
And curse the craven part,
When English hands shall lack the power
To guard an English heart.
And curse the craven part,
When English hands shall lack the power
To guard an English heart.
But not so fall'n is England's might
To need the hireling's aid,
And make the field of honour's fight
A mart of bloody trade.
To need the hireling's aid,
And make the field of honour's fight
A mart of bloody trade.
We still can keep our native land,
We still can shield a friend;
An English sword in English hand
Can still make tyrants bend.
We still can shield a friend;
An English sword in English hand
Can still make tyrants bend.
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Then woe betide the evil hour,
And curse the craven part,
That takes from English hands the power
To guard an English heart.
And curse the craven part,
That takes from English hands the power
To guard an English heart.
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IV. Peace and War.
Let faction vail its front of lies,
Nor seek our cause to blast:
The triumph of a party dies—
A nation's errors last.
Nor seek our cause to blast:
The triumph of a party dies—
A nation's errors last.
While proudly reigns triumphant wrong,
And right lies bleeding low,
'Tis treason for the brave and strong
To strike a feeble blow.
And right lies bleeding low,
'Tis treason for the brave and strong
To strike a feeble blow.
For shame forbear the unmanly part,
The cry of faction cease:
Oh! Peace is dear to every heart,
But Honour more than Peace.
The cry of faction cease:
Oh! Peace is dear to every heart,
But Honour more than Peace.
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Peace! while the tyrant unsubdued
Yet boasts that he can bring
A wild barbarian multitude
To crush us in the Spring?
Yet boasts that he can bring
A wild barbarian multitude
To crush us in the Spring?
While yet his heel's on Asia's breast,
And Poland lies in chains?
While yet in anguish unredressed
An outraged world remains?
And Poland lies in chains?
While yet in anguish unredressed
An outraged world remains?
While yet his rod the nations kiss,
And tremble at his name?
To pause in such an hour as this,
It were not Peace—but Shame.
And tremble at his name?
To pause in such an hour as this,
It were not Peace—but Shame.
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V. Brother-Lands.
THE ENGLISHMAN TO THE AMERICAN.
No hostile stranger-nations we,
To war with impious hands:
One land around a common sea;
One people in two lands.
To war with impious hands:
One land around a common sea;
One people in two lands.
In vain our kindred shores to part,
Are waves between us thrown;
The tide that warms a British heart,
Is that which fills your own.
Are waves between us thrown;
The tide that warms a British heart,
Is that which fills your own.
No beacon ranged on either beach
But like an angel stands,
To call new hopes from each to each,
And link our loving lands.
But like an angel stands,
To call new hopes from each to each,
And link our loving lands.
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No ship that sails from either shore,
While to and fro it plies,
But weaves the thread of friendship o'er
The gulf that 'twixt us lies.
While to and fro it plies,
But weaves the thread of friendship o'er
The gulf that 'twixt us lies.
No pilgrims from our harbours part,
Or come with eager oars,
But give you more of England's heart,
And more to us of yours.
Or come with eager oars,
But give you more of England's heart,
And more to us of yours.
No song that soothes our children's rest,
But unto yours is dear;
No lay that stirred our soldiers' breast,
But yours have glowed to hear.
But unto yours is dear;
No lay that stirred our soldiers' breast,
But yours have glowed to hear.
No fame that flashed on Britain's brow,
But gleams on yours alike:
Then, if ye can, abjure us now,
Forget it all—and strike!
But gleams on yours alike:
Then, if ye can, abjure us now,
Forget it all—and strike!
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VI. The Fountains of History.
The Genius of History stood on the height
Of a hill that the sun had kissed;
Deep, deep at its root was the brooding night,
And its centre was circled by mist.
Of a hill that the sun had kissed;
Deep, deep at its root was the brooding night,
And its centre was circled by mist.
And structures of Glory that promised to bide
Till Time and Eternity meet,
In fragments Titanic were rent from its side,
And lay nameless wrecks at its feet.
Till Time and Eternity meet,
In fragments Titanic were rent from its side,
And lay nameless wrecks at its feet.
And beautiful forms, like to palaces fair,
Stood glittering a short sunny day;
Like bright exhalations they rose in the air,
And vanished as trackless away.
Stood glittering a short sunny day;
Like bright exhalations they rose in the air,
And vanished as trackless away.
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The layers of the mountain were piled one by one,
By the ages that went there to rest,
As History climbed to the light of the sun,
And looked o'er the world from its crest.
By the ages that went there to rest,
As History climbed to the light of the sun,
And looked o'er the world from its crest.
She beheld how a blight had crept over the earth
And cankered the spirit of man:
The souls without glory, and hearts without worth,
And lives dwindled down to a span.
And cankered the spirit of man:
The souls without glory, and hearts without worth,
And lives dwindled down to a span.
Some creeping to labour with faint bleeding feet,
And cursing the work that they wrought;
And some, with brains shrivelled, like scrolls in the heat,
For want of a single great thought.
And cursing the work that they wrought;
And some, with brains shrivelled, like scrolls in the heat,
For want of a single great thought.
And hard, bony hands, that were griping for gain,
In the guerdons to other men due;
And few who were longing, but longing in vain,
For the good, and the great, and the true.
In the guerdons to other men due;
And few who were longing, but longing in vain,
For the good, and the great, and the true.
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Then History spake to the myriads of man,
In a moment of sympathy rare,
When with passion electric a noble thought ran
Through the mass of their mean, sordid care:
In a moment of sympathy rare,
When with passion electric a noble thought ran
Through the mass of their mean, sordid care:
“Deep—deep—hidden deep in the mountain away,
“Lies buried the pure virgin gold:
“There is tinsel enough in the world of to-day—
“Go! bring me the ore of the old.”
“Lies buried the pure virgin gold:
“There is tinsel enough in the world of to-day—
“Go! bring me the ore of the old.”
Then stood forth the children of passion and thought,
And delved in the mountain's dark home,
Till the pure crystal springs bounded forth as they wrought,
From the marble of Athens and Rome.
And delved in the mountain's dark home,
Till the pure crystal springs bounded forth as they wrought,
From the marble of Athens and Rome.
Oh! then how the myriads came gathering around!
How the heart in their bosom beat fast!
How the blood in their veins was beginning to bound,
As they drank the great cup of the past.
How the heart in their bosom beat fast!
How the blood in their veins was beginning to bound,
As they drank the great cup of the past.
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How paltry the present appeared to their eyes—
How worthless each poor selfish end—
With the light of their heaven beginning to rise,
And their heaven itself to extend!
How worthless each poor selfish end—
With the light of their heaven beginning to rise,
And their heaven itself to extend!
Thus ever the fountains that History unsealed,
In their bright early purity roll:
And the lepers of life wander there to be healed
Of the canker corroding the soul.
In their bright early purity roll:
And the lepers of life wander there to be healed
Of the canker corroding the soul.
| The Emperor's Vigil, and The Waves And The War | |