The Project Gutenberg eBook ofArmenia immolataThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Armenia immolataAuthor: Edward Strieby SteeleRelease date: May 4, 2016 [eBook #51998]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMENIA IMMOLATA ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Armenia immolataAuthor: Edward Strieby SteeleRelease date: May 4, 2016 [eBook #51998]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)
Title: Armenia immolata
Author: Edward Strieby Steele
Author: Edward Strieby Steele
Release date: May 4, 2016 [eBook #51998]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMENIA IMMOLATA ***
Armenia Immolata Edward S. Steele
Copyright. 1896, by Edward S. Steele.Published by the author,1522 Q Street, N. W., Washington, D. C.
HO YE! Ho ye! all Europe, ho!Ye Nations hear and patronize!Unequalled realistic showOn the World stage we advertise!Our repertoire will render flatYour little operas and plays,Your wagers of the ball and bat,Your hunting rides, and all the crazeOf wheel and sail on land and main—Yea, even tame the bulls of Spain!Revival ours of classic sports,Now with a brilliance to be seenWhich, should it reach the heavenly courts,Would turn the eyes of Nero green!To-day comes forth the Turkish beast,Three days kept hungry in his den,On the Armenian slave to feast,Who meets him arm-ed with a pen!Sure we shall win your approbation,—There, France and Russia on the right—The cost not a consideration;—The Triple Friends shall have the sightHere from the left, and in the centerLet Britain spread her cloth of gold!All in between ye small folk enter—America shall stand and scold!Now all right merrily shall chime.Ye knightly gentlemen, composeYour little quarrels for the time;Somewhat to reason each man owes,And to the general happiness;Your feuds shall suffer no abateFor an altruistical recess.Now come ye all and come in state!
HO YE! Ho ye! all Europe, ho!Ye Nations hear and patronize!Unequalled realistic showOn the World stage we advertise!Our repertoire will render flatYour little operas and plays,Your wagers of the ball and bat,Your hunting rides, and all the crazeOf wheel and sail on land and main—Yea, even tame the bulls of Spain!Revival ours of classic sports,Now with a brilliance to be seenWhich, should it reach the heavenly courts,Would turn the eyes of Nero green!To-day comes forth the Turkish beast,Three days kept hungry in his den,On the Armenian slave to feast,Who meets him arm-ed with a pen!Sure we shall win your approbation,—There, France and Russia on the right—The cost not a consideration;—The Triple Friends shall have the sightHere from the left, and in the centerLet Britain spread her cloth of gold!All in between ye small folk enter—America shall stand and scold!Now all right merrily shall chime.Ye knightly gentlemen, composeYour little quarrels for the time;Somewhat to reason each man owes,And to the general happiness;Your feuds shall suffer no abateFor an altruistical recess.Now come ye all and come in state!
HO YE! Ho ye! all Europe, ho!Ye Nations hear and patronize!Unequalled realistic showOn the World stage we advertise!Our repertoire will render flatYour little operas and plays,Your wagers of the ball and bat,Your hunting rides, and all the crazeOf wheel and sail on land and main—Yea, even tame the bulls of Spain!Revival ours of classic sports,Now with a brilliance to be seenWhich, should it reach the heavenly courts,Would turn the eyes of Nero green!To-day comes forth the Turkish beast,Three days kept hungry in his den,On the Armenian slave to feast,Who meets him arm-ed with a pen!Sure we shall win your approbation,—There, France and Russia on the right—The cost not a consideration;—The Triple Friends shall have the sightHere from the left, and in the centerLet Britain spread her cloth of gold!All in between ye small folk enter—America shall stand and scold!Now all right merrily shall chime.Ye knightly gentlemen, composeYour little quarrels for the time;Somewhat to reason each man owes,And to the general happiness;Your feuds shall suffer no abateFor an altruistical recess.Now come ye all and come in state!
Forthwith the powers and dignitiesProclaim a truce of God, and seekThrough all their ancient treasuriesA garb of pattern true antique.Not easy sits the classic modeUpon the tender modern frame,And some do chafe beneath their load,Some bear it with a look of shame.Soon over all the games prevail,Right well the beast doth play his part;So doth the martyr, too—each wailSounds as it issued from the heart!
Forthwith the powers and dignitiesProclaim a truce of God, and seekThrough all their ancient treasuriesA garb of pattern true antique.Not easy sits the classic modeUpon the tender modern frame,And some do chafe beneath their load,Some bear it with a look of shame.Soon over all the games prevail,Right well the beast doth play his part;So doth the martyr, too—each wailSounds as it issued from the heart!
Forthwith the powers and dignitiesProclaim a truce of God, and seekThrough all their ancient treasuriesA garb of pattern true antique.Not easy sits the classic modeUpon the tender modern frame,And some do chafe beneath their load,Some bear it with a look of shame.Soon over all the games prevail,Right well the beast doth play his part;So doth the martyr, too—each wailSounds as it issued from the heart!
Meanwhile out of that inner heatThat thrills anon the human kindAnd rends the cold, incrusting sheetOf stale traditions, lies enshrined,Accords of jealous interest,Hatreds of race, and bastard rights,And every influence unblestThe bloom of human love that blights—Out of the soul’s hot inner cellBreaks forth implacable a curse,The curse of him who loveth well—Of all the curses none is worse.
Meanwhile out of that inner heatThat thrills anon the human kindAnd rends the cold, incrusting sheetOf stale traditions, lies enshrined,Accords of jealous interest,Hatreds of race, and bastard rights,And every influence unblestThe bloom of human love that blights—Out of the soul’s hot inner cellBreaks forth implacable a curse,The curse of him who loveth well—Of all the curses none is worse.
Meanwhile out of that inner heatThat thrills anon the human kindAnd rends the cold, incrusting sheetOf stale traditions, lies enshrined,Accords of jealous interest,Hatreds of race, and bastard rights,And every influence unblestThe bloom of human love that blights—Out of the soul’s hot inner cellBreaks forth implacable a curse,The curse of him who loveth well—Of all the curses none is worse.
Accurs-ed be all they that hateTheir brother, so to serve their God!Soon had I cursed thy name, O Fate,Had I not seen thee ready shod,The besom in thy seasoned hand,To sweep six centuries of the TurkOut of a desecrated land!Woe be to him who stays thy work!Yea, woe unto the recreant tribeThat hath no legion for the Lord;That for a warrior sends a scribeTo palter with a prodigal ward!Where is your manhood, O ye States?Ye Governments that govern downAll in the soul that elevates!Ye hypocrites who, prudent, frownOn sympathy that warms the breast,And boast you of the devilish grace,Save in the name of interestYe meddle with your neighbors not!Ten fleets to guard a gilded pot,Not one to lift a bruised race!
Accurs-ed be all they that hateTheir brother, so to serve their God!Soon had I cursed thy name, O Fate,Had I not seen thee ready shod,The besom in thy seasoned hand,To sweep six centuries of the TurkOut of a desecrated land!Woe be to him who stays thy work!Yea, woe unto the recreant tribeThat hath no legion for the Lord;That for a warrior sends a scribeTo palter with a prodigal ward!Where is your manhood, O ye States?Ye Governments that govern downAll in the soul that elevates!Ye hypocrites who, prudent, frownOn sympathy that warms the breast,And boast you of the devilish grace,Save in the name of interestYe meddle with your neighbors not!Ten fleets to guard a gilded pot,Not one to lift a bruised race!
Accurs-ed be all they that hateTheir brother, so to serve their God!Soon had I cursed thy name, O Fate,Had I not seen thee ready shod,The besom in thy seasoned hand,To sweep six centuries of the TurkOut of a desecrated land!Woe be to him who stays thy work!Yea, woe unto the recreant tribeThat hath no legion for the Lord;That for a warrior sends a scribeTo palter with a prodigal ward!Where is your manhood, O ye States?Ye Governments that govern downAll in the soul that elevates!Ye hypocrites who, prudent, frownOn sympathy that warms the breast,And boast you of the devilish grace,Save in the name of interestYe meddle with your neighbors not!Ten fleets to guard a gilded pot,Not one to lift a bruised race!
Time was when power of sentimentFired Europe with a frenzied zeal;The stars out of their courses wentFor what the Christian heart did feel.Then babes with mail-ed knights did vieTo rescue from the InfidelThe place where once their Lord did lie,A rended shroud, an empty shell.Fanatics were they, minds distraught;And yet meseems did body thereSome energy of noble thought,Some prescience of a holy careOf man for man, to be fulfilledAs man grows more and symbol less,And sympathy no more is killedBy creed’s intolerable duress—By the duress of creed and greedAnd race and rank and worn-out codes.Awake, O Man, and find thee freed!Stand up from under thy brute loads!Be thou thyself and claim descentFrom the eternal Great and True!Were but some dawning glimmer lentThy mind of what thou art and who,Thy spirit with amaze should sinkAnd sit astonied one whole day,Then from the vision new life drink,And, casting its dead past away,Rise in a glowing golden youthTo share the omnipotence of love,The immortality of truth!The quick ideal thy choice should move,And not the fossiled precedent;Reason set free should free the heart,And with thy being’s full consent,Thy powers no longer vainly spent,Shouldst thou fulfill thy natal part!
Time was when power of sentimentFired Europe with a frenzied zeal;The stars out of their courses wentFor what the Christian heart did feel.Then babes with mail-ed knights did vieTo rescue from the InfidelThe place where once their Lord did lie,A rended shroud, an empty shell.Fanatics were they, minds distraught;And yet meseems did body thereSome energy of noble thought,Some prescience of a holy careOf man for man, to be fulfilledAs man grows more and symbol less,And sympathy no more is killedBy creed’s intolerable duress—By the duress of creed and greedAnd race and rank and worn-out codes.Awake, O Man, and find thee freed!Stand up from under thy brute loads!Be thou thyself and claim descentFrom the eternal Great and True!Were but some dawning glimmer lentThy mind of what thou art and who,Thy spirit with amaze should sinkAnd sit astonied one whole day,Then from the vision new life drink,And, casting its dead past away,Rise in a glowing golden youthTo share the omnipotence of love,The immortality of truth!The quick ideal thy choice should move,And not the fossiled precedent;Reason set free should free the heart,And with thy being’s full consent,Thy powers no longer vainly spent,Shouldst thou fulfill thy natal part!
Time was when power of sentimentFired Europe with a frenzied zeal;The stars out of their courses wentFor what the Christian heart did feel.Then babes with mail-ed knights did vieTo rescue from the InfidelThe place where once their Lord did lie,A rended shroud, an empty shell.Fanatics were they, minds distraught;And yet meseems did body thereSome energy of noble thought,Some prescience of a holy careOf man for man, to be fulfilledAs man grows more and symbol less,And sympathy no more is killedBy creed’s intolerable duress—By the duress of creed and greedAnd race and rank and worn-out codes.Awake, O Man, and find thee freed!Stand up from under thy brute loads!Be thou thyself and claim descentFrom the eternal Great and True!Were but some dawning glimmer lentThy mind of what thou art and who,Thy spirit with amaze should sinkAnd sit astonied one whole day,Then from the vision new life drink,And, casting its dead past away,Rise in a glowing golden youthTo share the omnipotence of love,The immortality of truth!The quick ideal thy choice should move,And not the fossiled precedent;Reason set free should free the heart,And with thy being’s full consent,Thy powers no longer vainly spent,Shouldst thou fulfill thy natal part!
In vain! in vain! I learned erewhileMan rises not on high with wings,But creeps the circuit of a mileTo rise a foot in spiritual things.Even so, O Christian man! are stillToo few of tutoring leagues behindTo set thee on the little hillWhere common justice rules the mind,Where plain humanity has sway—Yea, even on some level higher,Where pity doth her weeping stay,And love offended lights a fireThat heateth judgment seven times hotAgainst the bigot’s cruel ire,Which love or reason toucheth not?By Heaven! hast thou no heart as yet,I’d think thy nerves would set thee wildAt sight of rapine without let,Of slaughtered man and maid defiled,Of homeless mother, starving child,And of a patriotic raceCrushed in its ancient dwelling place!
In vain! in vain! I learned erewhileMan rises not on high with wings,But creeps the circuit of a mileTo rise a foot in spiritual things.Even so, O Christian man! are stillToo few of tutoring leagues behindTo set thee on the little hillWhere common justice rules the mind,Where plain humanity has sway—Yea, even on some level higher,Where pity doth her weeping stay,And love offended lights a fireThat heateth judgment seven times hotAgainst the bigot’s cruel ire,Which love or reason toucheth not?By Heaven! hast thou no heart as yet,I’d think thy nerves would set thee wildAt sight of rapine without let,Of slaughtered man and maid defiled,Of homeless mother, starving child,And of a patriotic raceCrushed in its ancient dwelling place!
In vain! in vain! I learned erewhileMan rises not on high with wings,But creeps the circuit of a mileTo rise a foot in spiritual things.Even so, O Christian man! are stillToo few of tutoring leagues behindTo set thee on the little hillWhere common justice rules the mind,Where plain humanity has sway—Yea, even on some level higher,Where pity doth her weeping stay,And love offended lights a fireThat heateth judgment seven times hotAgainst the bigot’s cruel ire,Which love or reason toucheth not?By Heaven! hast thou no heart as yet,I’d think thy nerves would set thee wildAt sight of rapine without let,Of slaughtered man and maid defiled,Of homeless mother, starving child,And of a patriotic raceCrushed in its ancient dwelling place!
In one regard I plainly seeThou hast betimes great progress made;Religious prejudice for theeHath in its sepulcher been laid.It grieves thee not that they who praiseA prophet whom thou countest none,Afflict a land, from ancient daysHolding the faith which is thine own.But pride thee not in progress such;It is the progress of disease,That holds thee in its numbing clutchAnd soon thy vital parts shall freeze.If thou wert truly tolerantThy blood within thy veins would boilThat creed, the worst or best, should plantIts foot on an unwilling soil.It is not breadth but policyThat holdeth back the avenging hand;Of all the Turks the worst is heOf Christian name in Christian land.
In one regard I plainly seeThou hast betimes great progress made;Religious prejudice for theeHath in its sepulcher been laid.It grieves thee not that they who praiseA prophet whom thou countest none,Afflict a land, from ancient daysHolding the faith which is thine own.But pride thee not in progress such;It is the progress of disease,That holds thee in its numbing clutchAnd soon thy vital parts shall freeze.If thou wert truly tolerantThy blood within thy veins would boilThat creed, the worst or best, should plantIts foot on an unwilling soil.It is not breadth but policyThat holdeth back the avenging hand;Of all the Turks the worst is heOf Christian name in Christian land.
In one regard I plainly seeThou hast betimes great progress made;Religious prejudice for theeHath in its sepulcher been laid.It grieves thee not that they who praiseA prophet whom thou countest none,Afflict a land, from ancient daysHolding the faith which is thine own.But pride thee not in progress such;It is the progress of disease,That holds thee in its numbing clutchAnd soon thy vital parts shall freeze.If thou wert truly tolerantThy blood within thy veins would boilThat creed, the worst or best, should plantIts foot on an unwilling soil.It is not breadth but policyThat holdeth back the avenging hand;Of all the Turks the worst is heOf Christian name in Christian land.
O Europe! O America!If ye but knew this fatal day!If ye could read the eternal lawNow at the parting of the way!If ye, beholding thus distressedThis pilgrim, leave him here to die,Ye are his murderers confessed,The guilt upon your souls will lie.T’will follow you through many a year,Corrupting the sweet tides of life,Now in insidious blight appear,And now break forth in horrid strife.T’will nullify religion’s claims,T’will mar your literature and art;T’will choke society’s best aims,To greed new energy impart.Nor even so shall ye evadeThe dreaded specter of the East;Until by right or ruin laidIt shall intrude into your feast.But if ye do the deed of menAnd save your brother here half-killed,Then shall ye be as born again,Your life with upward impulse filled.Your better selves once shaken freeWill loath submit to other chains;And from your deed of charity,Your own shall be the larger gains.
O Europe! O America!If ye but knew this fatal day!If ye could read the eternal lawNow at the parting of the way!If ye, beholding thus distressedThis pilgrim, leave him here to die,Ye are his murderers confessed,The guilt upon your souls will lie.T’will follow you through many a year,Corrupting the sweet tides of life,Now in insidious blight appear,And now break forth in horrid strife.T’will nullify religion’s claims,T’will mar your literature and art;T’will choke society’s best aims,To greed new energy impart.Nor even so shall ye evadeThe dreaded specter of the East;Until by right or ruin laidIt shall intrude into your feast.But if ye do the deed of menAnd save your brother here half-killed,Then shall ye be as born again,Your life with upward impulse filled.Your better selves once shaken freeWill loath submit to other chains;And from your deed of charity,Your own shall be the larger gains.
O Europe! O America!If ye but knew this fatal day!If ye could read the eternal lawNow at the parting of the way!If ye, beholding thus distressedThis pilgrim, leave him here to die,Ye are his murderers confessed,The guilt upon your souls will lie.T’will follow you through many a year,Corrupting the sweet tides of life,Now in insidious blight appear,And now break forth in horrid strife.T’will nullify religion’s claims,T’will mar your literature and art;T’will choke society’s best aims,To greed new energy impart.Nor even so shall ye evadeThe dreaded specter of the East;Until by right or ruin laidIt shall intrude into your feast.But if ye do the deed of menAnd save your brother here half-killed,Then shall ye be as born again,Your life with upward impulse filled.Your better selves once shaken freeWill loath submit to other chains;And from your deed of charity,Your own shall be the larger gains.
O friends of peace, dear brethren mine,Me of your inner circle name,Unless the peace which you designWith anarchy is one and same.It is not war but governmentWhen justice wields the avenging sword;And force in name of justice spentIs oil on troubled waters poured.Where reason is let reason rule,And law where men submit to laws;But with the cutthroat ’tis a foolAttempts to arbitrate his cause.Nor ends responsibilityWithin the nation’s narrow close;The world is one community,Each state to all allegiance owes.And who hath power and doth neglectTo rescue from the oppressor’s handThe wronged of any race or sectIn Christian or in pagan land—Who hath the power and lends not aidDoth sin against the primal right,Which man not Turk nor Frank hath madeBut citizen cosmopolite!
O friends of peace, dear brethren mine,Me of your inner circle name,Unless the peace which you designWith anarchy is one and same.It is not war but governmentWhen justice wields the avenging sword;And force in name of justice spentIs oil on troubled waters poured.Where reason is let reason rule,And law where men submit to laws;But with the cutthroat ’tis a foolAttempts to arbitrate his cause.Nor ends responsibilityWithin the nation’s narrow close;The world is one community,Each state to all allegiance owes.And who hath power and doth neglectTo rescue from the oppressor’s handThe wronged of any race or sectIn Christian or in pagan land—Who hath the power and lends not aidDoth sin against the primal right,Which man not Turk nor Frank hath madeBut citizen cosmopolite!
O friends of peace, dear brethren mine,Me of your inner circle name,Unless the peace which you designWith anarchy is one and same.It is not war but governmentWhen justice wields the avenging sword;And force in name of justice spentIs oil on troubled waters poured.Where reason is let reason rule,And law where men submit to laws;But with the cutthroat ’tis a foolAttempts to arbitrate his cause.Nor ends responsibilityWithin the nation’s narrow close;The world is one community,Each state to all allegiance owes.And who hath power and doth neglectTo rescue from the oppressor’s handThe wronged of any race or sectIn Christian or in pagan land—Who hath the power and lends not aidDoth sin against the primal right,Which man not Turk nor Frank hath madeBut citizen cosmopolite!
What doeth the Turk in power stillAs ends the nineteenth century?Lacks aught of shame his cup to fillOf unassuaged iniquity?Lacks aught of cruelty and blood?Lacks aught of treachery and lies?Lacks aught of crime ’gainst womanhood?Lacks mad fanaticism that pliesAll villainies in Allah’s name?And what redeeming deed or traitStands out to mitigate this blame?On what kind thought does Justice wait?What seeds of omen good may hideDeep in the Turkish breast, God knows;Scarce will they spring while rampant prideYields ever fresh return of woes.Meanwhile thy lightsome hopes to plead,The cause of justice to defer,Makes thee a partner well agreedIn the ensuing massacre.Nor will thy pennyworth of food,Dispensed with ne’er so pitying dole,The ruin of a race make good,Or take the curse from off thy soul.Master, I pray thee look uponThis vexed youth, my only son;Behold, a spirit taketh himAnd suddenly he crieth out;It bruiseth every manly limbAnd ceaseless harrieth him about—Now flingeth him into the fire,Now dasheth him upon the earth;And plagued with these afflictions dire,’Twere better he had wanted birth.And thy disciples did I askTo cast this grievous demon out;They could not do so hard a task,And left our minds of thee in doubt.But now, canst thou do anything,Let thy compassion lead thee on;Have pity and deliverance bringTo this my torn and pining son!
What doeth the Turk in power stillAs ends the nineteenth century?Lacks aught of shame his cup to fillOf unassuaged iniquity?Lacks aught of cruelty and blood?Lacks aught of treachery and lies?Lacks aught of crime ’gainst womanhood?Lacks mad fanaticism that pliesAll villainies in Allah’s name?And what redeeming deed or traitStands out to mitigate this blame?On what kind thought does Justice wait?What seeds of omen good may hideDeep in the Turkish breast, God knows;Scarce will they spring while rampant prideYields ever fresh return of woes.Meanwhile thy lightsome hopes to plead,The cause of justice to defer,Makes thee a partner well agreedIn the ensuing massacre.Nor will thy pennyworth of food,Dispensed with ne’er so pitying dole,The ruin of a race make good,Or take the curse from off thy soul.Master, I pray thee look uponThis vexed youth, my only son;Behold, a spirit taketh himAnd suddenly he crieth out;It bruiseth every manly limbAnd ceaseless harrieth him about—Now flingeth him into the fire,Now dasheth him upon the earth;And plagued with these afflictions dire,’Twere better he had wanted birth.And thy disciples did I askTo cast this grievous demon out;They could not do so hard a task,And left our minds of thee in doubt.But now, canst thou do anything,Let thy compassion lead thee on;Have pity and deliverance bringTo this my torn and pining son!
What doeth the Turk in power stillAs ends the nineteenth century?Lacks aught of shame his cup to fillOf unassuaged iniquity?Lacks aught of cruelty and blood?Lacks aught of treachery and lies?Lacks aught of crime ’gainst womanhood?Lacks mad fanaticism that pliesAll villainies in Allah’s name?And what redeeming deed or traitStands out to mitigate this blame?On what kind thought does Justice wait?What seeds of omen good may hideDeep in the Turkish breast, God knows;Scarce will they spring while rampant prideYields ever fresh return of woes.Meanwhile thy lightsome hopes to plead,The cause of justice to defer,Makes thee a partner well agreedIn the ensuing massacre.Nor will thy pennyworth of food,Dispensed with ne’er so pitying dole,The ruin of a race make good,Or take the curse from off thy soul.Master, I pray thee look uponThis vexed youth, my only son;Behold, a spirit taketh himAnd suddenly he crieth out;It bruiseth every manly limbAnd ceaseless harrieth him about—Now flingeth him into the fire,Now dasheth him upon the earth;And plagued with these afflictions dire,’Twere better he had wanted birth.And thy disciples did I askTo cast this grievous demon out;They could not do so hard a task,And left our minds of thee in doubt.But now, canst thou do anything,Let thy compassion lead thee on;Have pity and deliverance bringTo this my torn and pining son!