 | Poems |  |
251
CANT.
When the Priest who talks of striving
A heavenly strife,
Thinks far more of present living
Than future-life;
When the altar-fire he's stirring
To roast and stew,
As if for cure of souls, like herring,
The smoke would do;
When, to one well-known hell-deserver
Most tolerant,
He warns the rest with chronic fervour;
Here is Cant.
A heavenly strife,
Thinks far more of present living
Than future-life;
When the altar-fire he's stirring
To roast and stew,
As if for cure of souls, like herring,
The smoke would do;
When, to one well-known hell-deserver
Most tolerant,
He warns the rest with chronic fervour;
Here is Cant.
When the Author writes love-letters
To all mankind;
Or strikes with lightning-scorn the fetters
That myriads bind;
When, who is his neighbour, truly
He tells the proud;
Or groans for Genius most unduly
Chilled and cowed;
Yet low to gilt, shrined calves will lout it;
Nor hand will grant
To Worth, till Worth can do without it;
Here is Cant.
To all mankind;
Or strikes with lightning-scorn the fetters
That myriads bind;
252
He tells the proud;
Or groans for Genius most unduly
Chilled and cowed;
Yet low to gilt, shrined calves will lout it;
Nor hand will grant
To Worth, till Worth can do without it;
Here is Cant.
When all motives in the Soldier
Take holiest names;
And at the touch of death grow bolder
In lofty claims,
As if the ghastly phosphorescence
That rotting sheds
Were one with th'heavenly halo-presence
On sainted heads.
When artful knaves thus flatter grossly
Fools-militant,
And blockhead millions echo closely;
Here is Cant.
Take holiest names;
And at the touch of death grow bolder
In lofty claims,
As if the ghastly phosphorescence
That rotting sheds
Were one with th'heavenly halo-presence
On sainted heads.
When artful knaves thus flatter grossly
Fools-militant,
And blockhead millions echo closely;
Here is Cant.
When Statesmen, down at foot of hill, are
All warm and bold,
But as they climb the mountain-pillar
Grow cold and cold:
When the Patriot's voice is vox et
Præterea nihil:
When the Martyr-spirit baulks at
Each daily trial:
When Bishops' sleeves, with all their bloatage,
Give space too scant
For laughs at Mother Church's dotage;
Here is Cant.
All warm and bold,
253
Grow cold and cold:
When the Patriot's voice is vox et
Præterea nihil:
When the Martyr-spirit baulks at
Each daily trial:
When Bishops' sleeves, with all their bloatage,
Give space too scant
For laughs at Mother Church's dotage;
Here is Cant.
When “Honesty,” that bragged ingredient
In every trade,
Means just the minimum, expedient
For Interest's aid:
When beyond abstract gold, so many
“Friendship” esteem,
Yet with so few the concrete guinea
Will kick the beam:
When “Love,” while owned the firmest, chiefest
Boon life can grant,
Is weighed as though the least and briefest;—
Here is Cant.
In every trade,
Means just the minimum, expedient
For Interest's aid:
When beyond abstract gold, so many
“Friendship” esteem,
Yet with so few the concrete guinea
Will kick the beam:
When “Love,” while owned the firmest, chiefest
Boon life can grant,
Is weighed as though the least and briefest;—
Here is Cant.
254
When poem-reader,—poem-writer,
(This too may be)
In living type is no inditer
Of poetry.
When any man thinks God's prescription
Man's ways should school;
And makes himself the one exception
To prove the rule;—
Howe'er he may in sight of others
Gloze, pray or rant;
Howe'er the conscience-voice he smothers;
His life is Cant.
(This too may be)
In living type is no inditer
Of poetry.
When any man thinks God's prescription
Man's ways should school;
And makes himself the one exception
To prove the rule;—
Howe'er he may in sight of others
Gloze, pray or rant;
Howe'er the conscience-voice he smothers;
His life is Cant.
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