Freedom, Truth And Beauty Part 7

Would thou wert England's Nature, Bard Supreme, To fashion kings and lordlings fit to rule; They would be flesh and blood, not fiend and ghoul; And would thou wert her Sun, that every beam Might not, for tally, show a youth's blood-pool, Choking blithe Spring, as, now, to earth's extreme.

ENGLAND'S RIGHTEOUSNESS

The righteousness of England! "Tis to kneel Full weight on weaker nations, and entone Hosannas louder than the victims groan; Then, stooping, drink their blood with gulps of zeal."

What right have wounds, though wide, to throb, or feel?

'Tis blasphemy to England's crimson throne.

Knee-deep in Erin's blood, she mocks Christ's moan: Forgive them, Lord! they know not their true weal.

"Whose is the fault? Tis not my arrogance, But candor, Lord, that puts the blame on Thee.

What right hadst Thou to make these people free And let all nature prompt them to advance?-- Oh, no such blunder, Lord, hadst Thou called me, Instead of Wisdom, to approve Thy plans!"

THE Ma.s.sACRE OF THE WELSH MINERS

The Bard's curse: "Ruin seize thee Ruthless King,"

Took bat-like form for hollow echo-flight.

Though stoned and lanced at, when, at fall of night, It darted forth with ghastly--spreading wing, It found in fresh, wide, royal ravishing, New hollows, dark with horror and sad plight, To dash in and live on. Oh, to my sight, How grows its grimness, while eternaling!

Deep are the minds of Wales, but far more deep The horror, gulfed out by McCreedy, firing On men defenseless and, through want, expiring.

Oh, from that gulf the Bard's curse makes a sweep Up to the Sun and, from its long desiring, Grown eagle, shrieks to heaven from steep to step!

A DIRTY WORK

"A dirty work," said Dyer, rebuked for spilling Hundreds of lives to irrigate new lands.

A dirty work, but not for British hands, Dabbling in blood to earn each day their shilling.

Hark! Mohawk Valley and Wyoming, chilling With thought of Tarleton's King-serving bands, And Canada red-clayed, though high snow stands, Cry: Work for which the British are too willing!

Invaded lands need terror irrigation To make them fruitful. Better flood the field, Then let the native bloom become the yield; And, so, this Dyer submerged a small whole nation With crimson death, that England might, deep-keeled, Have for display, new seas of desolation.

HUMAN NATURE

The ocean, holding pure the azure's blue, Laughs at the tempests, with one empire's dust After an other, to round out Earth's crust.

Ah, so does Human Nature hold the hue It takes from heaven, its conscience, and laughs, too, At madness, wrecking life and with its gust Forming new islands, where Pride, Greed, or l.u.s.t, Welcomes the crater's glare, in sun-light's lieu.

Look in the sea and deep, what scattered rock, The islands which at dusk, the tempest piled!

Ere rose a star, they sank with crews, beguiled.

O Tempests that with world formations, mock The good Creator, how, as ye grow wild, Earth quakes and no live thing survives the shock.

OUR COUNTRY--SOUL AND CHARACTER

I

Our country is not rock and wood and stream, But soul transfusing them. What is the soul?

The substance, born of G.o.d, above control And, when one, with G.o.d's love, called "Will," supreme; And Freedom is the soul in thought, and dream That Nature's beauty and harmonious whole-- G.o.d's foot-steps--followed, life attains its Goal; And soul is purpose to achieve G.o.d's scheme.

The soul, then,--our true country,--is the brave Who fought and bled for Freedom, or will fight To their last pulse, last breath, for Human Right.---- Great soul! oh, how like bubbles in the wave, Are the Sierras in cerulean flight, To thy true grandeur, letting nought enslave!

II

O thou art Character--art only those Who formed the good and great by thought, or deed.

All others are not worth a moment's heed,-- Mere prairie dogs, who raise gold hills in rows-- When gazing at thy glory; for that grows With Freedom from all foul untruths; with lead In art for weal; with science for all woes; With hate of thrall and help for all unfreed.

No mere foot-shadow, on time's wall, art thou, Without eye-sparkle, swing of arm, warm flow From heart to vain, and cheeks with health of glow.

Oh, 'tis eternal heights reflect thy brow And shoulders, that avert man's overthrow, Threatened all times, and never more than now.

III

Oh, what if lone and long thy lofty flight, My country? Is thy vision not as clear As that of Vesper, dauntless pioneer On Twilight's alt.i.tude? As from that height, He sees plain through the thick black walls of night, The stars all ma.s.sing; so dost thou, his peer, Behold all peoples gathering, year by year, To scale the clouds to thy White Range of Right.

How thy lone loftness, aloof from wrong, Refracting man-ward, G.o.d's enrapturing smile Of fruitful fields, leads legions! On they file And phalanx, and the vision makes thee strong: What, though G.o.d's searchlight flares the sky the while?

It nears not thee, ear-close to heaven's high song.

JUDAH AND ERIN

From out a desert where the trails run red, Judah and Erin speed their camel pace, Sighting green palms. The flush on either face Is from the fissure where each wedged her head From sandstorms, that hurled heavens down, as they sped; It is no blush for thought, or conduct, base To the high trust to bring the Human Race, Truths, without which Time's offspring are born dead.

In spirit, they are sisters; for, beyond The desert, where the vision, like a dove, Soars round the palace of Almighty Love, G.o.d hails them as "My Daughters, true and fond, Who show man, through Noon blaze, my star above, And to my will, fail never to respond."

THE EASTER RISING IN IRELAND