A Channel Passage and Other Poems Part 11

ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL BENSON

Northumberland, so proud and sad to-day, Weep and rejoice, our mother, whom no son More glorious than this dead and deathless one Brought ever fame whereon no time shall prey.

Nor heed we more than he what liars dare say Of mercy's holiest duties left undone Toward whelps and dams of murderous foes, whom none Save we had spared or feared to starve and slay.

Alone as Milton and as Wordsworth found And hailed their England, when from all around Howled all the recreant hate of envious knaves, Sublime she stands: while, stifled in the sound, Each lie that falls from German boors and slaves Falls but as filth dropt in the wandering waves.

_November 4, 1901._

ASTRaeA VICTRIX

England, elect of time, By freedom sealed sublime, And constant as the sun that saw thy dawn Outshine upon the sea His own in heaven, to be A light that night nor day should see withdrawn, If song may speak not now thy praise, Fame writes it higher than song may soar or faith may gaze.

Dark months of months beheld Hope thwarted, crossed, and quelled, And heard the heartless hounds of hatred bay Aloud against thee, glad As now their souls are sad Who see their hope in hatred pa.s.s away And wither into shame and fear And shudder down to darkness, loth to see or hear.

Nought now they hear or see That speaks or shows not thee Triumphant; not as empires reared of yore, The imperial commonweal That bears thy sovereign seal And signs thine orient as thy natural sh.o.r.e Free, as no sons but thine may stand, Steers lifeward ever, guided of thy pilot hand.

Fear, masked and veiled by fraud, Found shameful time to applaud Shame, and bow down thy banner towards the dust, And call on G.o.dly shame To desecrate thy name And bid false penitence abjure thy trust: Till England's heart took thought at last, And felt her future kindle from her fiery past.

Then sprang the sunbright fire High as the sun, and higher Than strange men's eyes might watch it undismayed: But winds athwart it blew Storm, and the twilight grew Darkness awhile, an unenduring shade: And all base birds and beasts of night Saw no more England now to fear, no loathsome light.

All knaves and slaves at heart Who, knowing thee what thou art, Abhor thee, seeing what none save here may see, Strong freedom, taintless truth, Supreme in ageless youth, Howled all their hate and hope aloud at thee While yet the wavering wind of strife Bore hard against her sail whose freight is hope and life.

And now the quickening tide That brings back power and pride To faith and love whose ensign is thy name Bears down the recreant lie That doomed thy name to die, Sons, friends, and foes behold thy star the same As when it stood in heaven a sun And Europe saw no glory left her sky save one.

And now, as then she saw, She sees with shamefast awe How all unlike all slaves and tyrants born Where bondmen champ the bit And anarchs foam and flit, And day mocks day, and year puts year to scorn, Our mother bore us, English men, Ashamed of shame and strong in mercy, now as then.

We loosed not on these knaves Their scourge-tormented slaves: We held the hand that fain had risen to smite The torturer fast, and made Justice awhile afraid, And righteousness forego her ruthless right: We warred not even with these as they; We bade not them they preyed on make of them their prey.

All murderous fraud that lurks In hearts where h.e.l.l's craft works Fought, crawled, and slew in darkness: they that died Dreamed not of foes too base For scorn to grant them grace: Men wounded, women, children at their side, Had found what faith in fiends may live: And yet we gave not back what righteous doom would give.

No false white flag that fawns On faith till murder dawns Blood-red from h.e.l.l-black treason's heart of hate Left ever shame's foul brand Seared on an English hand: And yet our pride vouchsafes them grace too great For other pride to dream of: scorn Strikes retribution silent as the stars at morn.

And now the living breath Whose life puts death to death, Freedom, whose name is England, stirs and thrills The burning darkness through Whence fraud and slavery grew, We scarce may mourn our dead whose fame fulfils The record where her foes have read That earth shall see none like her born ere earth be dead.

THE FIRST OF JUNE

Peace and war are one in proof of England's deathless praise.

One divine day saw her foemen scattered on the sea Far and fast as storm could speed: the same strong day of days Sees the imperial commonweal set friends and foemen free.

Save where freedom reigns, whose name is England, fraud and fear Grind and blind the face of men who look on her and lie: Now may truth and pride in truth, whose seat of old was here, See them shamed and stricken blind and dumb as worms that die.

Even before our hallowed hawthorn-blossom pa.s.s and cease, Even as England shines and smiles at last upon the sun, Comes the word that means for England more than pa.s.sing peace, Peace with honour, peace with pride in righteous work well done.

Crowned with flowers the first of all the world and all the year, Peace, whose name is one with honour born of war, is here.

ROUNDEL

FROM THE FRENCH OF VILLON

Death, I would plead against thy wrong, Who hast reft me of my love, my wife, And art not satiate yet with strife, But needs wilt hold me lingering long.

No strength since then has kept me strong: But what could hurt thee in her life, Death?

Twain we were, and our hearts one song, One heart: if that be dead, thy knife Hath cut me off alive from life, Dead as the carver's figured throng, Death!

A ROUNDEL OF RABELAIS

Theleme is afar on the waters, adrift and afar, Afar and afloat on the waters that flicker and gleam, And we feel but her fragrance and see but the shadows that mar Theleme.

In the sun-coloured mists of the sunrise and sunset that steam As incense from urns of the twilight, her portals ajar Let pa.s.s as a shadow the light of the sound of a dream.

But the laughter that rings from her cloisters that know not a bar So kindles delight in desire that the souls in us deem He erred not, the seer who discerned on the seas as a star Theleme.

LUCIFER

_ecrasez l'infame._--VOLTAIRE

_Les pretres ont raison de l'appeler Lucifer._--VICTOR HUGO

Voltaire, our England's lover, man divine Beyond all G.o.ds that ever fear adored By right and might, by sceptre and by sword, By G.o.dlike love of sunlike truth, made thine Through G.o.dlike hate of falsehood's marshlight shine And all the fume of creeds and deeds abhorred Whose light was darkness, till the dawn-star soared, Truth, reason, mercy, justice, keep thy shrine Sacred in memory's temple, seeing that none Of all souls born to strive before the sun Loved ever good or hated evil more.

The snake that felt thy heel upon her head, Night's first-born, writhes as though she were not dead, But strikes not, stings not, slays not as before.

THE CENTENARY OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS