RÉVEILLÉ
(1915)
Britons, awake! Can nothing blast your dream—
This deadly atrophy of will and brain?
Beyond your narrow streak of ocean-stream
The Nightmare of the Centuries looms again.
Splendeur de Dex! What Norman William dared
May Teuton William not again assay?
Huddling like sheep for slaughter, unprepared,
Shall we still loiter when hath dawned “the Day?”
Nay, rather let the vanguard of the flood
Whereon the legend of our Glory rides
Shatter the ramparts of her recreant brood,
And whelm us, like Atlantis, with her tides!
Is there no lash insensate hides to sting?
Must the young Whelps storm home from lands afar
To die for crowds that line a Football ring,
And cravens skulking from the fields of War?
Even thus the infatuate lords of Babylon
Went feasting till the Persian glaives swept home;
Thus in the Circus rang the shouting on
Till Alaric burst the ill-guarded gates of Rome.
Britons, awake! Today the die is cast:
Today at least we grip our destinies—
The peace our Fathers wrung out of the Past.
Tomorrows are too late for Fools to seize!
