Songs of the Army of the Night Part 9

I.

There was a time when all thy sons were proud To speak thy name, England, when Europe echoed back aloud Thy fearless fame:

When Spain reeled shattered helpless from thy guns And splendid ire, When from Canadian snows to Indian suns Pitt's soul was fire.

O that in days like these were, fair and free From shame and scorn, Fate had allowed, benignly, pityingly That I was born!

O that, if struck, then struck with glorious wounds, I bore apart (Not torn with fangs of leprous coward hounds) My bleeding heart!

II.

We hate you-not because of cruel deeds Staining a glorious effort. They who live Learn in this earth to give and to forgive, Where heart and soul are n.o.ble and fate's needs Imperious: No, nor yet that cruel seeds Of power and wrong you've sown alternative, We hate you, we your sons who yet believe That truth and justice are not empty creeds!

No, but because of greed and golden pay, Wages of sin and death: because you smother Your conscience, making cursed all the day.

Bible in one hand, bludgeon in the other, Cain-like you come upon and slay your brother, And, kneeling down, thank G.o.d for it, and pray!

III.

I whom you fed with shame and starved with woe, I wheel above you, Your fatal vulture, for I hate you so, I almost love you!

I smell your ruin out. I light and croak My sombre lore, As swaggering you go by, O heart of oak Rotten to the core!

Look westward! Ireland's vengeful eyes are cast On freedom won.

Look eastward! India stirs from sleep at last.

You are undone!

Look southward, where Australia hears your voice, And turns away!

O brutal hypocrite, she makes her choice With the rising day!

Foul Esau, you who sold your high birthright For gilded mud, Who did the wrong and, priestlike, called it right, And swindled G.o.d!

_The hour is gone of insult_, _pain and patience_; _The hour is come_ _When they arise_, _the faithful mightier nations_, _To drag you down_!

IV.

England, the land I loved With pa.s.sionate pride, For hate of whom I live Who for love had died,

Can I, while shines the sun, That hour regain When I again may come to thee And love again?

No, not while that flag Of greed and l.u.s.t Flaunts in the air, untaught To drag the dust!-

Never, till expiant, I see you kneel, And, brandished, gleams aloft The foeman's steel!

Ah, then to speed, and laugh, As my heart caught the knife: "_Mother_, _I love you_! _Here_, _Here is my life_!"

HONG-KONG LYRICS.

I.

At anchor in that harbour of the island, The Chinese gate, We lay where, terraced under green-clad highland, The sea-town sate.

Ships, steamers, sailors, many a flag and nation, A motley crew, Junks, sampans, all East's swarming jubilation, I watched and knew.

Then, as I stood, sweet sudden sounds out-swelling On the boon breeze, The church-bells' chiming echoes rang out, telling Of inland peace.

O English chimes, your music rising and falling I cannot praise, Although to me it come sweet-sad recalling Dear childish days.

Yet, English chimes,-last links of chains that sever, Worn out and done, That land and creed that I have left for ever,- Ring on, ring on!

II.

There is much in this sea-way city I have not met with before, But one or two things I notice That I seem to have known of yore.

In the lovely tropical verdure, In the streets, behold I can The hideous English buildings And the brutal English man!

III.

I stand and watch the soldiers Marching up and down, Above the fresh green cricket-ground Just outside the town.

I stand and watch and wonder When in the English land This poor fool Tommy Atkins Will learn and understand?

Zulus, and Boers, and Arabs, All fighting to be free, Men and women and children, Murdered and maimed has he.

In India and in Ireland He's held the People down, While the robber English gentleman Took pound and penny and crown.

To make him false to his order, What was it that they gave- To make him his brother's oppressor?

The clothes and pay of a slave!

O thou poor fool, Tommy Atkins, Thou wilt be wise that day When, with eager eyes and clenched teeth, Thou risest up to say:

"_This is our well-loved England_, _And I'll free it_, _if I can_, _From every rotten bourgeois_ _And played-out gentleman_!"