Departmental Ditties and Barrack Room Ballads Part 16

"But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day, I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away, First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.

"The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it--the frozen dews have kissed-- The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist.

What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare, Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!"

"CLEARED"

(In Memory of a Commission)

Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, Help for an honorable clan sore trampled in the dirt!

From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song, The honorable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong.

Their n.o.ble names were mentioned--O the burning black disgrace!-- By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case; They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart to brave it, And "coruscating innocence" the learned Judges gave it.

Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the surgeon's knife, The honorable gentlemen deplored the loss of life; Bear witness of those chanting choirs that burk and shirk and sn.i.g.g.e.r, No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to the trigger!

Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the winking skies, Like phoenixes from Phoenix Park (and what lay there) they rise!

Go shout it to the emerald seas-give word to Erin now, Her honorable gentlemen are cleared--and this is how:

They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking price, They only helped the murderer with council's best advice, But--sure it keeps their honor white--the learned Court believes They never gave a piece of plate to murderers and thieves.

They ever told the ramping crowd to card a woman's hide, They never marked a man for death--what fault of theirs he died?-- They only said "intimidate," and talked and went away-- By G.o.d, the boys that did the work were braver men than they!

Their sin it was that fed the fire--small blame to them that heard The "bhoys" get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at the word-- They knew whom they were talking at, if they were Irish too, The gentlemen that lied in Court, they knew and well they knew.

They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail, They only fawned for dollars on the blood-dyed Clan-na-Gael.

If black is black or white is white, ill black and white it's down, They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown.

"Cleared," honorable gentlemen. Be thankful it's no more: The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your door.

On you the shame of open shame, on you from North to South The band of every honest man flat-heeled across your mouth.

"Less black than we were painted"?--Faith, no word of black was said; The lightest touch was human blood, and that, ye know, runs red.

It's sticking to your fist today for all your sneer and scoff, And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot wipe it off.

Hold up those hands of innocence--go, scare your sheep, together, The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell-wether; And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen, Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again!

"The charge is old"?--As old as Cain--as fresh as yesterday; Old as the Ten Commandments, have ye talked those laws away?

If words are words, or death is death, or powder sends the ball, You spoke the words that sped the shot--the curse be on you all.

"Our friends believe"? Of course they do--as sheltered women may; But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the quivering clay?

They--If their own front door is shut, they'll swear the whole world's warm; What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear of harm?

The secret half a country keeps, the whisper in the lane, The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the broken pane, The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the honest bees, And shows the "bhoys" have heard your talk--what do they know of these?

But you--you know--ay, ten times more; the secrets of the dead, Black terror on the country-side by word and whisper bred, The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail-cropped heifer's low.

Who set the whisper going first? You know, and well you know!

My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and straight, Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, l.u.s.t, or hate, Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons cheered, While one of those "not provens" proved me cleared as you are cleared.

Cleared--you that "lost" the League accounts--go, guard our honor still, Go, help to make our country's laws that broke G.o.d's laws at will-- One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal "strike again"; The other on your dress-shirt front to show your heart is @dane,

If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's down, You're only traitors to the Queen and but rebels to the Crown If print is print or words are words, the learned Court perpends: We are not ruled by murderers, only--by their friends.

AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT

Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed, To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need, He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and sweat, That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally of bricks be set.

The Lords of Their Hands a.s.sembled; from the East and the West they drew-- Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and Crewe.

And some were black from the furnace, and some were brown from the soil, And some were blue from the dye-vat; but all were wearied of toil.

And the young King said:--"I have found it, the road to the rest ye seek: The strong shall wait for the weary, the hale shall halt for the weak; With the even tramp of an army where no man breaks from the line, Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond of brotherhood--sign!"

The paper lay on the table, the strong heads bowed thereby, And a wail went up from the peoples:--"Ay, sign--give rest, for we die!"

A hand was stretched to the goose-quill, a fist was cramped to scrawl, When--the laugh of a blue-eyed maiden ran clear through the council-hall.

And each one heard Her laughing as each one saw Her plain-- Saidie, Mimi, or Olga, Gretchen, or Mary Jane.

And the Spirit of Man that is in Him to the light of the vision woke; And the men drew back from the paper, as a Yankee delegate spoke:--

"There's a girl in Jersey City who works on the telephone; We're going to hitch our horses and dig for a house of our own, With gas and water connections, and steam-heat through to the top; And, W. Hohenzollern, I guess I shall work till I drop."

And an English delegate thundered:--"The weak an' the lame be blowed!

I've a berth in the Sou'-West workshops, a home in the Wandsworth Road; And till the 'sociation has footed my buryin' bill, I work for the kids an' the missus. Pull up? I be d.a.m.ned if I will!"

And over the German benches the bearded whisper ran:-- "Lager, der girls und der dollars, dey makes or dey breaks a man.

If Schmitt haf collared der dollars, he collars der girl deremit; But if Schmitt bust in der pizness, we collars der girl from Schmitt."

They pa.s.sed one resolution:--"Your sub-committee believe You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've lightened the curse of Eve.

But till we are built like angels, with hammer and chisel and pen, We will work for ourself and a woman, for ever and ever, amen."

Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser held-- The day that they razored the Grindstone, the day that the Cat was belled, The day of the Figs from Thistles, the day of the Twisted Sands, The day that the laugh of a maiden made light of the Lords of Their Hands.

TOMLINSON

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square, And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair-- A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away, Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way: Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone and cease, And they came to the Gate within the Wall where Peter holds the keys.

"Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer loud and high The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye came to die-- The good that ye did for the sake of men in little earth so lone!"

And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as a rain-washed bone.

"O I have a friend on earth," he said, "that was my priest and guide, And well would he answer all for me if he were by my side."

--"For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written fair, But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley Square: Though we called your friend from his bed this night, he could not speak for you, For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two."

Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was there, For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw that his soul was bare: The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife, And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of his good in life.