IOut of hell a word comes hissing, dark as doom,Fierce as fire, and foul as plague-polluted gloom;Out of hell wherein the sinless damned endureMore than ever sin conceived of pains impure;More than ever ground men's living souls to dust;Worse than madness ever dreamed of murderous lust.Since the world's wail first went up from lands and seasEars have heard not, tongues have told not things like these.Dante, led by love's and hate's accordant spellDown the deepest and the loathliest ways of hell,Where beyond the brook of blood the rain was fire,Where the scalps were masked with dung more deep than mire,Saw not, where the filth was foulest, and the nightDarkest, depths whose fiends could match the Muscovite.Set beside this truth, his deadliest vision seemsPale and pure and painless as a virgin's dreams.Maidens dead beneath the clasping lash, and wivesRent with deadlier pangs than death—for shame survives,Naked, mad, starved, scourged, spurned, frozen, fallen, deflowered,Souls and bodies as by fangs of beasts devoured,Sounds that hell would hear not, sights no thought could shape,Limbs that feel as flame the ravenous grasp of rape,Filth of raging crime and shame that crime enjoys,Age made one with youth in torture, girls with boys,These, and worse if aught be worse than these things are,Prove thee regent, Russia—praise thy mercy, Czar.IISons of man, men born of women, may we dareSay they sin who dare be slain and dare not spare?They who take their lives in hand and smile on death,Holding life as less than sleep's most fitful breath,So their life perchance or death may serve and speedFaith and hope, that die if dream become not deed?Nought is death and nought is life and nought is fateSave for souls that love has clothed with fire of hate.These behold them, weigh them, prove them, find them nought,Save by light of hope and fire of burning thought.What though sun be less than storm where these aspire,Dawn than lightning, song than thunder, light than fire?Help is none in heaven: hope sees no gentler star:Earth is hell, and hell bows down before the Czar.All its monstrous, murderous, lecherous births acclaimHim whose empire lives to match its fiery fame.Nay, perchance at sight or sense of deeds here done,Here where men may lift up eyes to greet the sun,Hell recoils heart-stricken: horror worse than hellDarkens earth and sickens heaven; life knows the spell,Shudders, quails, and sinks—or, filled with fierier breath,Rises red in arms devised of darkling death.Pity mad with passion, anguish mad with shame,Call aloud on justice by her darker name;Love grows hate for love's sake; life takes death for guide.Night hath none but one red star—Tyrannicide.III"God or man, be swift; hope sickens with delay:Smite, and send him howling down his father's way!Fall, O fire of heaven, and smite as fire from hellHalls wherein men's torturers, crowned and cowering, dwell!These that crouch and shrink and shudder, girt with power—These that reign, and dare not trust one trembling hour—These omnipotent, whom terror curbs and drives—These whose life reflects in fear their victims' lives—These whose breath sheds poison worse than plague's thick breath—These whose reign is ruin, these whose word is death,These whose will turns heaven to hell, and day to night,These, if God's hand smite not, how shall man's not smite?"So from hearts by horror withered as by fireSurge the strains of unappeasable desire;Sounds that bid the darkness lighten, lit for death;Bid the lips whose breath was doom yield up their breath;Down the way of Czars, awhile in vain deferred,Bid the Second Alexander light the Third.How for shame shall men rebuke them? how may weBlame, whose fathers died, and slew, to leave us free?We, though all the world cry out upon them, know,Were our strife as theirs, we could not strike but so;Could not cower, and could not kiss the hands that smite;Could not meet them armed in sunlit battle's light.Dark as fear and red as hate though morning rise,Life it is that conquers; death it is that dies.
I
Out of hell a word comes hissing, dark as doom,Fierce as fire, and foul as plague-polluted gloom;Out of hell wherein the sinless damned endureMore than ever sin conceived of pains impure;More than ever ground men's living souls to dust;Worse than madness ever dreamed of murderous lust.Since the world's wail first went up from lands and seasEars have heard not, tongues have told not things like these.Dante, led by love's and hate's accordant spellDown the deepest and the loathliest ways of hell,Where beyond the brook of blood the rain was fire,Where the scalps were masked with dung more deep than mire,Saw not, where the filth was foulest, and the nightDarkest, depths whose fiends could match the Muscovite.Set beside this truth, his deadliest vision seemsPale and pure and painless as a virgin's dreams.Maidens dead beneath the clasping lash, and wivesRent with deadlier pangs than death—for shame survives,Naked, mad, starved, scourged, spurned, frozen, fallen, deflowered,Souls and bodies as by fangs of beasts devoured,Sounds that hell would hear not, sights no thought could shape,Limbs that feel as flame the ravenous grasp of rape,Filth of raging crime and shame that crime enjoys,Age made one with youth in torture, girls with boys,These, and worse if aught be worse than these things are,Prove thee regent, Russia—praise thy mercy, Czar.
II
Sons of man, men born of women, may we dareSay they sin who dare be slain and dare not spare?They who take their lives in hand and smile on death,Holding life as less than sleep's most fitful breath,So their life perchance or death may serve and speedFaith and hope, that die if dream become not deed?Nought is death and nought is life and nought is fateSave for souls that love has clothed with fire of hate.These behold them, weigh them, prove them, find them nought,Save by light of hope and fire of burning thought.What though sun be less than storm where these aspire,Dawn than lightning, song than thunder, light than fire?Help is none in heaven: hope sees no gentler star:Earth is hell, and hell bows down before the Czar.All its monstrous, murderous, lecherous births acclaimHim whose empire lives to match its fiery fame.Nay, perchance at sight or sense of deeds here done,Here where men may lift up eyes to greet the sun,Hell recoils heart-stricken: horror worse than hellDarkens earth and sickens heaven; life knows the spell,Shudders, quails, and sinks—or, filled with fierier breath,Rises red in arms devised of darkling death.Pity mad with passion, anguish mad with shame,Call aloud on justice by her darker name;Love grows hate for love's sake; life takes death for guide.Night hath none but one red star—Tyrannicide.
III
"God or man, be swift; hope sickens with delay:Smite, and send him howling down his father's way!Fall, O fire of heaven, and smite as fire from hellHalls wherein men's torturers, crowned and cowering, dwell!These that crouch and shrink and shudder, girt with power—These that reign, and dare not trust one trembling hour—These omnipotent, whom terror curbs and drives—These whose life reflects in fear their victims' lives—These whose breath sheds poison worse than plague's thick breath—These whose reign is ruin, these whose word is death,These whose will turns heaven to hell, and day to night,These, if God's hand smite not, how shall man's not smite?"So from hearts by horror withered as by fireSurge the strains of unappeasable desire;Sounds that bid the darkness lighten, lit for death;Bid the lips whose breath was doom yield up their breath;Down the way of Czars, awhile in vain deferred,Bid the Second Alexander light the Third.How for shame shall men rebuke them? how may weBlame, whose fathers died, and slew, to leave us free?We, though all the world cry out upon them, know,Were our strife as theirs, we could not strike but so;Could not cower, and could not kiss the hands that smite;Could not meet them armed in sunlit battle's light.Dark as fear and red as hate though morning rise,Life it is that conquers; death it is that dies.
Storm and shame and fraud and darkness fill the nations full with night:Hope and fear whose eyes yearn eastward have but fire and sword in sight:One alone, whose name is one with glory, sees and seeks the light.Hellas, mother of the spirit, sole supreme in war and peace,Land of light, whose word remembered bids all fear and sorrow cease,Lives again, while freedom lightens eastward yet for sons of Greece.Greece, where only men whose manhood was as godhead ever trod,Bears the blind world witness yet of light wherewith her feet are shod:Freedom, armed of Greece was always very man and very God.Now the winds of old that filled her sails with triumph, when the fleetBound for death from Asia fled before them stricken, wake to greetShips full-winged again for freedom toward the sacred shores of Crete.There was God born man, the song that spake of old time said: and thereMan, made even as God by trust that shows him nought too dire to dare,Now may light again the beacon lit when those we worship were.Sharp the concert wrought of discord shrills the tune of shame and death,Turk by Christian fenced and fostered, Mecca backed by Nazareth:All the powerless powers, tongue-valiant, breathe but greed's or terror's breath.Though the tide that feels the west wind lift it wave by widening waveWax not yet to height and fullness of the storm that smites to save,None shall bid the flood back seaward till no bar be left to brave.
Storm and shame and fraud and darkness fill the nations full with night:Hope and fear whose eyes yearn eastward have but fire and sword in sight:One alone, whose name is one with glory, sees and seeks the light.
Hellas, mother of the spirit, sole supreme in war and peace,Land of light, whose word remembered bids all fear and sorrow cease,Lives again, while freedom lightens eastward yet for sons of Greece.
Greece, where only men whose manhood was as godhead ever trod,Bears the blind world witness yet of light wherewith her feet are shod:Freedom, armed of Greece was always very man and very God.
Now the winds of old that filled her sails with triumph, when the fleetBound for death from Asia fled before them stricken, wake to greetShips full-winged again for freedom toward the sacred shores of Crete.
There was God born man, the song that spake of old time said: and thereMan, made even as God by trust that shows him nought too dire to dare,Now may light again the beacon lit when those we worship were.
Sharp the concert wrought of discord shrills the tune of shame and death,Turk by Christian fenced and fostered, Mecca backed by Nazareth:All the powerless powers, tongue-valiant, breathe but greed's or terror's breath.
Though the tide that feels the west wind lift it wave by widening waveWax not yet to height and fullness of the storm that smites to save,None shall bid the flood back seaward till no bar be left to brave.
IThee, the son of God most high,Famed for harping song, will IProclaim, and the deathless oracular wordFrom the snow-topped rock that we gaze on heard,Counsels of thy glorious givingManifest for all men living,How thou madest the tripod of prophecy thineWhich the wrath of the dragon kept guard on, a shrineVoiceless till thy shafts could smiteAll his live coiled glittering might.IIYe that hold of right aloneAll deep woods on Helicon,Fair daughters of thunder-girt God, with your brightWhite arms uplift as to lighten the light,Come to chant your brother's praise,Gold-haired Phœbus, loud in lays,Even his, who afar up the twin-topped seatOf the rock Parnassian whereon we meetRisen with glorious Delphic maidsSeeks the soft spring-sweetened shadesCastalian, fain of the Delphian peakProphetic, sublime as the feet that seek.Glorious Athens, highest of state,Come, with praise and prayer elate,O thou that art queen of the plain unscarredThat the warrior Tritonid hath alway in guard,Where on many a sacred shrineYoung bulls' thigh-bones burn and shineAs the god that is fire overtakes them, and fastThe smoke of Arabia to heavenward is cast,Scattering wide its balm: and shrillNow with nimble notes that thrillThe flute strikes up for the song, and the harp of goldStrikes up to the song sweet answer: and all behold,All, aswarm as bees, give ear,Who by birth hold Athens dear.
I
Thee, the son of God most high,Famed for harping song, will IProclaim, and the deathless oracular wordFrom the snow-topped rock that we gaze on heard,Counsels of thy glorious givingManifest for all men living,How thou madest the tripod of prophecy thineWhich the wrath of the dragon kept guard on, a shrineVoiceless till thy shafts could smiteAll his live coiled glittering might.
II
Ye that hold of right aloneAll deep woods on Helicon,Fair daughters of thunder-girt God, with your brightWhite arms uplift as to lighten the light,Come to chant your brother's praise,Gold-haired Phœbus, loud in lays,Even his, who afar up the twin-topped seatOf the rock Parnassian whereon we meetRisen with glorious Delphic maidsSeeks the soft spring-sweetened shadesCastalian, fain of the Delphian peakProphetic, sublime as the feet that seek.Glorious Athens, highest of state,Come, with praise and prayer elate,O thou that art queen of the plain unscarredThat the warrior Tritonid hath alway in guard,Where on many a sacred shrineYoung bulls' thigh-bones burn and shineAs the god that is fire overtakes them, and fastThe smoke of Arabia to heavenward is cast,Scattering wide its balm: and shrillNow with nimble notes that thrillThe flute strikes up for the song, and the harp of goldStrikes up to the song sweet answer: and all behold,All, aswarm as bees, give ear,Who by birth hold Athens dear.
An age too great for thought of ours to scan,A wave upon the sleepless sea of timeThat sinks and sleeps for ever, ere the chimePass that salutes with blessing, not with ban,The dark year dead, the bright year born for man,Dies: all its days that watched man cower and climb,Frail as the foam, and as the sun sublime,Sleep sound as they that slept ere these began.Our mother earth, whose ages none may tell,Puts on no change: time bids not her wax paleOr kindle, quenched or quickened, when the knellSounds, and we cry across the veering galeFarewell—and midnight answers us, Farewell;Hail—and the heaven of morning answers, Hail.
An age too great for thought of ours to scan,A wave upon the sleepless sea of timeThat sinks and sleeps for ever, ere the chimePass that salutes with blessing, not with ban,The dark year dead, the bright year born for man,Dies: all its days that watched man cower and climb,Frail as the foam, and as the sun sublime,Sleep sound as they that slept ere these began.
Our mother earth, whose ages none may tell,Puts on no change: time bids not her wax paleOr kindle, quenched or quickened, when the knellSounds, and we cry across the veering galeFarewell—and midnight answers us, Farewell;Hail—and the heaven of morning answers, Hail.
A light has passed that never shall pass away,A sun has set whose rays are unquelled of night.The loyal grace, the courtesy bright as day,The strong sweet radiant spirit of life and lightThat shone and smiled and lightened on all men's sight,The kindly life whose tune was the tune of May,For us now dark, for love and for fame is bright.Nay, not for us that live as the fen-fires live,As stars that shoot and shudder with life and die,Can death make dark that lustre of life, or giveThe grievous gift of trust in oblivion's lie.Days dear and far death touches, and draws them nigh,And bids the grief that broods on their graves forgiveThe day that seems to mock them as clouds that fly.If life be life more faithful than shines on sleepWhen dreams take wing and lighten and fade like flame,Then haply death may be not a death so deepThat all things past are past for it wholly—fame,Love, loving-kindness, seasons that went and came,And left their light on life as a seal to keepWinged memory fast and heedful of time's dead claim.Death gives back life and light to the sunless yearsWhose suns long sunken set not for ever. Time,Blind, fierce, and deaf as tempest, relents, and hearsAnd sees how bright the days and how sweet their chimeRang, shone, and passed in music that matched the climeWherein we met rejoicing—a joy that cheersSorrow, to see the night as the dawn sublime.The days that were outlighten the days that are,And eyes now darkened shine as the stars we seeAnd hear not sing, impassionate star to star,As once we heard the music that haply heHears, high in heaven if ever a voice may beThe same in heaven, the same as on earth, afarFrom pain and earth as heaven from the heaving sea.A woman's voice, divine as a bird's by dawnKindled and stirred to sunward, arose and heldOur souls that heard, from earth as from sleep withdrawn,And filled with light as stars, and as stars compelledTo move by might of music, elate while quelled,Subdued by rapture, lit as a mountain lawnBy morning whence all heaven in the sunrise welled.And her the shadow of death as a robe clasped roundThen: and as morning's music she passed away.And he then with us, warrior and wanderer, crownedWith fame that shone from eastern on western day,More strong, more kind, than praise or than grief might say,Has passed now forth of shadow by sunlight bound,Of night shot through with light that is frail as May.May dies, and light grows darkness, and life grows death:Hope fades and shrinks and falls as a changing leaf:Remembrance, touched and kindled by love's live breath,Shines, and subdues the shadow of time called grief,The shade whose length of life is as life's date brief,With joy that broods on the sunlight past, and saithThat thought and love hold sorrow and change in fief.Sweet, glad, bright spirit, kind as the sun seems kindWhen earth and sea rejoice in his gentler spell,Thy face that was we see not; bereft and blind,We see but yet, rejoicing to see, and dwellAwhile in days that heard not the death-day's knell,A light so bright that scarcely may sorrow findOne old sweet word that hails thee and mourns—Farewell.
A light has passed that never shall pass away,A sun has set whose rays are unquelled of night.The loyal grace, the courtesy bright as day,The strong sweet radiant spirit of life and lightThat shone and smiled and lightened on all men's sight,The kindly life whose tune was the tune of May,For us now dark, for love and for fame is bright.
Nay, not for us that live as the fen-fires live,As stars that shoot and shudder with life and die,Can death make dark that lustre of life, or giveThe grievous gift of trust in oblivion's lie.Days dear and far death touches, and draws them nigh,And bids the grief that broods on their graves forgiveThe day that seems to mock them as clouds that fly.
If life be life more faithful than shines on sleepWhen dreams take wing and lighten and fade like flame,Then haply death may be not a death so deepThat all things past are past for it wholly—fame,Love, loving-kindness, seasons that went and came,And left their light on life as a seal to keepWinged memory fast and heedful of time's dead claim.
Death gives back life and light to the sunless yearsWhose suns long sunken set not for ever. Time,Blind, fierce, and deaf as tempest, relents, and hearsAnd sees how bright the days and how sweet their chimeRang, shone, and passed in music that matched the climeWherein we met rejoicing—a joy that cheersSorrow, to see the night as the dawn sublime.
The days that were outlighten the days that are,And eyes now darkened shine as the stars we seeAnd hear not sing, impassionate star to star,As once we heard the music that haply heHears, high in heaven if ever a voice may beThe same in heaven, the same as on earth, afarFrom pain and earth as heaven from the heaving sea.
A woman's voice, divine as a bird's by dawnKindled and stirred to sunward, arose and heldOur souls that heard, from earth as from sleep withdrawn,And filled with light as stars, and as stars compelledTo move by might of music, elate while quelled,Subdued by rapture, lit as a mountain lawnBy morning whence all heaven in the sunrise welled.
And her the shadow of death as a robe clasped roundThen: and as morning's music she passed away.And he then with us, warrior and wanderer, crownedWith fame that shone from eastern on western day,More strong, more kind, than praise or than grief might say,Has passed now forth of shadow by sunlight bound,Of night shot through with light that is frail as May.
May dies, and light grows darkness, and life grows death:Hope fades and shrinks and falls as a changing leaf:Remembrance, touched and kindled by love's live breath,Shines, and subdues the shadow of time called grief,The shade whose length of life is as life's date brief,With joy that broods on the sunlight past, and saithThat thought and love hold sorrow and change in fief.
Sweet, glad, bright spirit, kind as the sun seems kindWhen earth and sea rejoice in his gentler spell,Thy face that was we see not; bereft and blind,We see but yet, rejoicing to see, and dwellAwhile in days that heard not the death-day's knell,A light so bright that scarcely may sorrow findOne old sweet word that hails thee and mourns—Farewell.
High thought and hallowed love, by faith made one,Begat and bare the sweet strong-hearted child,Art, nursed of Nature; earth and sea and sunSaw Nature then more godlike as she smiled.Life smiled on death, and death on life: the SoulBetween them shone, and soared above their strife,And left on Time's unclosed and starry scrollA sign that quickened death to deathless life.Peace rose like Hope, a patient queen, and badeHell's firstborn, Faith, abjure her creed and die;And Love, by life and death made sad and glad,Gave Conscience ease, and watched Good Will pass by.All these make music now of one man's name,Whose life and age are one with love and fame.
High thought and hallowed love, by faith made one,Begat and bare the sweet strong-hearted child,Art, nursed of Nature; earth and sea and sunSaw Nature then more godlike as she smiled.Life smiled on death, and death on life: the SoulBetween them shone, and soared above their strife,And left on Time's unclosed and starry scrollA sign that quickened death to deathless life.Peace rose like Hope, a patient queen, and badeHell's firstborn, Faith, abjure her creed and die;And Love, by life and death made sad and glad,Gave Conscience ease, and watched Good Will pass by.All these make music now of one man's name,Whose life and age are one with love and fame.
Kind, wise, and true as truth's own heart,A soul that hereChose and held fast the better partAnd cast out fear,Has left us ere we dreamed of deathFor life so strong,Clear as the sundawn's light and breath,And sweet as song.We see no more what here awhileShed light on men:Has Landor seen that brave bright smileAlive again?If death and life and love be oneAnd hope no lieAnd night no stronger than the sun,These cannot die.The father-spirit whence her soulTook strength, and gaveBack love, is perfect yet and whole,As hope might crave.His word is living light and fire:And hers shall liveBy grace of all good gifts the sireGave power to give.The sire and daughter, twain and oneIn quest and goal,Stand face to face beyond the sun,And soul to soul.Not we, who loved them well, may dreamWhat joy sublimeIs theirs, if dawn through darkness gleam,And life through time.Time seems but here the mask of death,That falls and showsA void where hope may draw not breath:Night only knows.Love knows not: all that love may keepGlad memory gives:The spirit of the days that sleepStill wakes and lives.But not the spirit's self, though songWould lend it speech,May touch the goal that hope might longIn vain to reach.How dear that high true heart, how sweetThose keen kind eyes,Love knows, who knows how fiery fleetIs life that flies.If life there be that flies not, fairThe life must beThat thrills her sovereign spirit thereAnd sets it free.
Kind, wise, and true as truth's own heart,A soul that hereChose and held fast the better partAnd cast out fear,
Has left us ere we dreamed of deathFor life so strong,Clear as the sundawn's light and breath,And sweet as song.
We see no more what here awhileShed light on men:Has Landor seen that brave bright smileAlive again?
If death and life and love be oneAnd hope no lieAnd night no stronger than the sun,These cannot die.
The father-spirit whence her soulTook strength, and gaveBack love, is perfect yet and whole,As hope might crave.
His word is living light and fire:And hers shall liveBy grace of all good gifts the sireGave power to give.
The sire and daughter, twain and oneIn quest and goal,Stand face to face beyond the sun,And soul to soul.
Not we, who loved them well, may dreamWhat joy sublimeIs theirs, if dawn through darkness gleam,And life through time.
Time seems but here the mask of death,That falls and showsA void where hope may draw not breath:Night only knows.
Love knows not: all that love may keepGlad memory gives:The spirit of the days that sleepStill wakes and lives.
But not the spirit's self, though songWould lend it speech,May touch the goal that hope might longIn vain to reach.
How dear that high true heart, how sweetThose keen kind eyes,Love knows, who knows how fiery fleetIs life that flies.
If life there be that flies not, fairThe life must beThat thrills her sovereign spirit thereAnd sets it free.
Beloved above all nations, land adored,Sovereign in spirit and charm, by song and sword,Sovereign whose life is love, whose name is light,Italia, queen that hast the sun for lord,Bride that hast heaven for bridegroom, how should nightVeil or withhold from faith's and memory's sightA man beloved and crowned of thee and fame,Hide for an hour his name's memorial might?Thy sons may never speak or hear the nameSaffi, and feel not love's regenerate flameThrill all the quickening heart with faith and prideIn one whose life makes death and life the same.They die indeed whose souls before them died:Not he, for whom death flung life's portal wide,Who stands where Dante's soul in vision came,In Dante's presence, by Mazzini's side.March 26, 1896.
Beloved above all nations, land adored,Sovereign in spirit and charm, by song and sword,Sovereign whose life is love, whose name is light,Italia, queen that hast the sun for lord,
Bride that hast heaven for bridegroom, how should nightVeil or withhold from faith's and memory's sightA man beloved and crowned of thee and fame,Hide for an hour his name's memorial might?
Thy sons may never speak or hear the nameSaffi, and feel not love's regenerate flameThrill all the quickening heart with faith and prideIn one whose life makes death and life the same.
They die indeed whose souls before them died:Not he, for whom death flung life's portal wide,Who stands where Dante's soul in vision came,In Dante's presence, by Mazzini's side.
March 26, 1896.
Death, winged with fire of hate from deathless hellWherein the souls of anarchs hiss and die,With stroke as dire has cloven a heart as highAs twice beyond the wide sea's westward swellThe living lust of death had power to quellThrough ministry of murderous hands wherebyDark fate bade Lincoln's head and Garfield's lieLow even as his who bids his France farewell.France, now no heart that would not weep with theeLoved ever faith or freedom. From thy handThe staff of state is broken: hope, unmannedWith anguish, doubts if freedom's self be free.The snake-souled anarch's fang strikes all the landCold, and all hearts unsundered by the sea.June 25, 1894.
Death, winged with fire of hate from deathless hellWherein the souls of anarchs hiss and die,With stroke as dire has cloven a heart as highAs twice beyond the wide sea's westward swellThe living lust of death had power to quellThrough ministry of murderous hands wherebyDark fate bade Lincoln's head and Garfield's lieLow even as his who bids his France farewell.
France, now no heart that would not weep with theeLoved ever faith or freedom. From thy handThe staff of state is broken: hope, unmannedWith anguish, doubts if freedom's self be free.The snake-souled anarch's fang strikes all the landCold, and all hearts unsundered by the sea.
June 25, 1894.
France, cloven in twain by fire of hell and hate,Shamed with the shame of men her meanest born,Soldier and judge whose names, inscribed for scorn,Stand vilest on the record writ of fate,Lies yet not wholly vile who stood so great,Sees yet not all her praise of old outworn.Not yet is all her scroll of glory torn,Or left for utter shame to desecrate.High souls and constant hearts of faithful menSustain her perfect praise with tongue and penIndomitable as honour. Storms may tossAnd soil her standard ere her bark win home:But shame falls full upon the Christless crossWhose brandmark signs the holy hounds of Rome.September 1899.
France, cloven in twain by fire of hell and hate,Shamed with the shame of men her meanest born,Soldier and judge whose names, inscribed for scorn,Stand vilest on the record writ of fate,Lies yet not wholly vile who stood so great,Sees yet not all her praise of old outworn.Not yet is all her scroll of glory torn,Or left for utter shame to desecrate.High souls and constant hearts of faithful menSustain her perfect praise with tongue and penIndomitable as honour. Storms may tossAnd soil her standard ere her bark win home:But shame falls full upon the Christless crossWhose brandmark signs the holy hounds of Rome.
September 1899.
Patience, long sick to death, is dead. Too longHave sloth and doubt and treason bidden us beWhat Cromwell's England was not, when the seaTo him bore witness given of Blake how strongShe stood, a commonweal that brooked no wrongFrom foes less vile than men like wolves set freeWhose war is waged where none may fight or flee—With women and with weanlings. Speech and songLack utterance now for loathing. Scarce we hearFoul tongues that blacken God's dishonoured nameWith prayers turned curses and with praise found shameDefy the truth whose witness now draws nearTo scourge these dogs, agape with jaws afoam,Down out of life. Strike, England, and strike home.October 9, 1899.
Patience, long sick to death, is dead. Too longHave sloth and doubt and treason bidden us beWhat Cromwell's England was not, when the seaTo him bore witness given of Blake how strongShe stood, a commonweal that brooked no wrongFrom foes less vile than men like wolves set freeWhose war is waged where none may fight or flee—With women and with weanlings. Speech and songLack utterance now for loathing. Scarce we hearFoul tongues that blacken God's dishonoured nameWith prayers turned curses and with praise found shameDefy the truth whose witness now draws nearTo scourge these dogs, agape with jaws afoam,Down out of life. Strike, England, and strike home.
October 9, 1899.
The wave that breaks against a forward strokeBeats not the swimmer back, but thrills him throughWith joyous trust to win his way anewThrough stronger seas than first upon him brokeAnd triumphed. England's iron-tempered oakShrank not when Europe's might against her grewFull, and her sun drank up her foes like dew,And lion-like from sleep her strength awoke.As bold in fight as bold in breach of trustWe find our foes, and wonder not to find,Nor grudge them praise whom honour may not bind;But loathing more intense than speaks disgustHeaves England's heart, when scorn is bound to greetHunters and hounds whose tongues would lick their feet.November 1, 1899.
The wave that breaks against a forward strokeBeats not the swimmer back, but thrills him throughWith joyous trust to win his way anewThrough stronger seas than first upon him brokeAnd triumphed. England's iron-tempered oakShrank not when Europe's might against her grewFull, and her sun drank up her foes like dew,And lion-like from sleep her strength awoke.
As bold in fight as bold in breach of trustWe find our foes, and wonder not to find,Nor grudge them praise whom honour may not bind;But loathing more intense than speaks disgustHeaves England's heart, when scorn is bound to greetHunters and hounds whose tongues would lick their feet.
November 1, 1899.
Storm, strong with all the bitter heart of hate,Smote England, now nineteen dark years ago,As when the tide's full wrath in seaward flowSmites and bears back the swimmer. Fraud and fateWere leagued against her: fear was fain to prateOf honour in dishonour, pride brought low,And humbleness whence holiness must grow,And greatness born of shame to be so great.The winter day that withered hope and prideShines now triumphal on the turning tideThat sets once more our trust in freedom free,That leaves a ruthless and a truthless foeAnd all base hopes that hailed his cause laid low,And England's name a light on land and sea.February 27, 1900.
Storm, strong with all the bitter heart of hate,Smote England, now nineteen dark years ago,As when the tide's full wrath in seaward flowSmites and bears back the swimmer. Fraud and fateWere leagued against her: fear was fain to prateOf honour in dishonour, pride brought low,And humbleness whence holiness must grow,And greatness born of shame to be so great.
The winter day that withered hope and prideShines now triumphal on the turning tideThat sets once more our trust in freedom free,That leaves a ruthless and a truthless foeAnd all base hopes that hailed his cause laid low,And England's name a light on land and sea.
February 27, 1900.
Northumberland, so proud and sad to-day,Weep and rejoice, our mother, whom no sonMore glorious than this dead and deathless oneBrought ever fame whereon no time shall prey.Nor heed we more than he what liars dare sayOf mercy's holiest duties left undoneToward whelps and dams of murderous foes, whom noneSave we had spared or feared to starve and slay.Alone as Milton and as Wordsworth foundAnd hailed their England, when from all aroundHowled all the recreant hate of envious knaves,Sublime she stands: while, stifled in the sound,Each lie that falls from German boors and slavesFalls but as filth dropt in the wandering waves.November 4, 1901.
Northumberland, so proud and sad to-day,Weep and rejoice, our mother, whom no sonMore glorious than this dead and deathless oneBrought ever fame whereon no time shall prey.Nor heed we more than he what liars dare sayOf mercy's holiest duties left undoneToward whelps and dams of murderous foes, whom noneSave we had spared or feared to starve and slay.
Alone as Milton and as Wordsworth foundAnd hailed their England, when from all aroundHowled all the recreant hate of envious knaves,Sublime she stands: while, stifled in the sound,Each lie that falls from German boors and slavesFalls but as filth dropt in the wandering waves.
November 4, 1901.
England, elect of time,By freedom sealed sublime,And constant as the sun that saw thy dawnOutshine upon the seaHis own in heaven, to beA 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 beheldHope thwarted, crossed, and quelled,And heard the heartless hounds of hatred bayAloud against thee, gladAs now their souls are sadWho see their hope in hatred pass awayAnd wither into shame and fearAnd shudder down to darkness, loth to see or hear.Nought now they hear or seeThat speaks or shows not theeTriumphant; not as empires reared of yore,The imperial commonwealThat bears thy sovereign sealAnd signs thine orient as thy natural shoreFree, 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 applaudShame, and bow down thy banner towards the dust,And call on godly shameTo desecrate thy nameAnd 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 fireHigh as the sun, and higherThan strange men's eyes might watch it undismayed:But winds athwart it blewStorm, and the twilight grewDarkness awhile, an unenduring shade:And all base birds and beasts of nightSaw no more England now to fear, no loathsome light.All knaves and slaves at heartWho, 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 theeWhile yet the wavering wind of strifeBore hard against her sail whose freight is hope and life.And now the quickening tideThat brings back power and prideTo faith and love whose ensign is thy nameBears down the recreant lieThat doomed thy name to die,Sons, friends, and foes behold thy star the sameAs when it stood in heaven a sunAnd Europe saw no glory left her sky save one.And now, as then she saw,She sees with shamefast aweHow all unlike all slaves and tyrants bornWhere bondmen champ the bitAnd 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 knavesTheir scourge-tormented slaves:We held the hand that fain had risen to smiteThe torturer fast, and madeJustice 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 lurksIn hearts where hell's craft worksFought, crawled, and slew in darkness: they that diedDreamed not of foes too baseFor 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 fawnsOn faith till murder dawnsBlood-red from hell-black treason's heart of hateLeft ever shame's foul brandSeared on an English hand:And yet our pride vouchsafes them grace too greatFor other pride to dream of: scornStrikes retribution silent as the stars at morn.And now the living breathWhose life puts death to death,Freedom, whose name is England, stirs and thrillsThe burning darkness throughWhence fraud and slavery grew,We scarce may mourn our dead whose fame fulfilsThe record where her foes have readThat earth shall see none like her born ere earth be dead.
England, elect of time,By freedom sealed sublime,And constant as the sun that saw thy dawnOutshine upon the seaHis own in heaven, to beA 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 beheldHope thwarted, crossed, and quelled,And heard the heartless hounds of hatred bayAloud against thee, gladAs now their souls are sadWho see their hope in hatred pass awayAnd wither into shame and fearAnd shudder down to darkness, loth to see or hear.
Nought now they hear or seeThat speaks or shows not theeTriumphant; not as empires reared of yore,The imperial commonwealThat bears thy sovereign sealAnd signs thine orient as thy natural shoreFree, 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 applaudShame, and bow down thy banner towards the dust,And call on godly shameTo desecrate thy nameAnd 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 fireHigh as the sun, and higherThan strange men's eyes might watch it undismayed:But winds athwart it blewStorm, and the twilight grewDarkness awhile, an unenduring shade:And all base birds and beasts of nightSaw no more England now to fear, no loathsome light.
All knaves and slaves at heartWho, 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 theeWhile yet the wavering wind of strifeBore hard against her sail whose freight is hope and life.
And now the quickening tideThat brings back power and prideTo faith and love whose ensign is thy nameBears down the recreant lieThat doomed thy name to die,Sons, friends, and foes behold thy star the sameAs when it stood in heaven a sunAnd Europe saw no glory left her sky save one.
And now, as then she saw,She sees with shamefast aweHow all unlike all slaves and tyrants bornWhere bondmen champ the bitAnd 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 knavesTheir scourge-tormented slaves:We held the hand that fain had risen to smiteThe torturer fast, and madeJustice 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 lurksIn hearts where hell's craft worksFought, crawled, and slew in darkness: they that diedDreamed not of foes too baseFor 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 fawnsOn faith till murder dawnsBlood-red from hell-black treason's heart of hateLeft ever shame's foul brandSeared on an English hand:And yet our pride vouchsafes them grace too greatFor other pride to dream of: scornStrikes retribution silent as the stars at morn.
And now the living breathWhose life puts death to death,Freedom, whose name is England, stirs and thrillsThe burning darkness throughWhence fraud and slavery grew,We scarce may mourn our dead whose fame fulfilsThe record where her foes have readThat earth shall see none like her born ere earth be dead.
Peace and war are one in proof of England's deathless praise.One divine day saw her foemen scattered on the seaFar and fast as storm could speed: the same strong day of daysSees the imperial commonweal set friends and foemen free.Save where freedom reigns, whose name is England, fraud and fearGrind 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 pass and cease,Even as England shines and smiles at last upon the sun,Comes the word that means for England more than passing 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.
Peace and war are one in proof of England's deathless praise.One divine day saw her foemen scattered on the seaFar and fast as storm could speed: the same strong day of daysSees the imperial commonweal set friends and foemen free.Save where freedom reigns, whose name is England, fraud and fearGrind 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 pass and cease,Even as England shines and smiles at last upon the sun,Comes the word that means for England more than passing 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.
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 knifeHath cut me off alive from life,Dead as the carver's figured throng,Death!
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 knifeHath cut me off alive from life,Dead as the carver's figured throng,Death!
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 marTheleme.In the sun-coloured mists of the sunrise and sunset that steamAs incense from urns of the twilight, her portals ajarLet pass as a shadow the light of the sound of a dream.But the laughter that rings from her cloisters that know not a barSo kindles delight in desire that the souls in us deemHe erred not, the seer who discerned on the seas as a starTheleme.
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 marTheleme.
In the sun-coloured mists of the sunrise and sunset that steamAs incense from urns of the twilight, her portals ajarLet pass as a shadow the light of the sound of a dream.
But the laughter that rings from her cloisters that know not a barSo kindles delight in desire that the souls in us deemHe erred not, the seer who discerned on the seas as a starTheleme.
Voltaire, our England's lover, man divineBeyond all Gods that ever fear adoredBy right and might, by sceptre and by sword,By godlike love of sunlike truth, made thineThrough godlike hate of falsehood's marshlight shineAnd all the fume of creeds and deeds abhorredWhose light was darkness, till the dawn-star soared,Truth, reason, mercy, justice, keep thy shrineSacred in memory's temple, seeing that noneOf all souls born to strive before the sunLoved 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.
Voltaire, our England's lover, man divineBeyond all Gods that ever fear adoredBy right and might, by sceptre and by sword,By godlike love of sunlike truth, made thineThrough godlike hate of falsehood's marshlight shineAnd all the fume of creeds and deeds abhorredWhose light was darkness, till the dawn-star soared,Truth, reason, mercy, justice, keep thy shrineSacred in memory's temple, seeing that noneOf all souls born to strive before the sunLoved 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.