I.And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, littleAnne?Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he lookslike a man.And Willy's wife has written: she never wasover-wise,Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice.II.For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man tosave,Had n't a head to manage, and drank himself into hisgrave.Pretty enough, very pretty! but I was against it forone.Eh!—but he would n't hear me—and Willy, you say,is gone.III.Willy, my beauty, my eldest-born, the flower of theflock;Never a man could fling him: for Willy stood like arock.'Here's a leg for a babe of a week!' says doctor; andhe would be bound,There was not his like that year in twenty parishesround.IV.Strong of his hands, and strong on his legs, but still ofhis tongue!I ought to have gone before him: I wonder he wentso young.I cannot cry for him, Annie: I have not long tostay;Perhaps I shall see him the sooner, for he lived faraway.V.Why do you look at me, Annie? you think I am hardand cold;But all my children have gone before me, I am soold:I cannot weep for Willy, nor can I weep for therest;Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with thebest.VI.For I remember a quarrel I had with your father, mydear,All for a slanderous story, that cost me many atear.I mean your grandfather, Annie: it cost me a worldof woe,Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy yearsago.VII.For Jenny, my cousin, had come to the place, and Iknew right wellThat Jenny had tript in her time: I knew, but Iwould not tell.And she to be coming and slandering me, the baselittle liar!But the tongue is a fire as you know, my dear, thetongue is a fire.VIII.And the parson made it his text that week, and hesaid likewise,That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest oflies,That a lie which is all a lie may be met and foughtwith outright,But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter tofight.IX.And Willy had not been down to the farm for a weekand a day;And all things look'd half-dead, tho' it was the middleof May.Jenny, to slander me, who knew what Jenny hadbeen!But soiling another, Annie, will never make oneselfclean.X.And I cried myself well-nigh blind, and all of anevening lateI climb'd to the top of the garth, and stood by theroad at the gate.The moon like a rick on fire was rising over thedale,And whit, whit, whit, in the bush beside me chirruptthe nightingale.XI.All of a sudden he stopt: there past by the gate ofthe farm,Willy,—he did n't see me,—and Jenny hung on hisarm.Out into the road I started, and spoke I scarce knewhow;Ah, there's no fool like the old one—it makes meangry now.XII.Willy stood up like a man, and look'd the thing thathe meant;Jenny, the viper, made me a mocking courtesy andwent.And I said, 'Let us part: in a hundred years it'll allbe the same,You cannot love me at all, if you love not my goodname.'XIII.And he turn'd, and I saw his eyes all wet, in the sweetmoonshine:Sweetheart, I love you so well that your good nameis mine.And what do I care for Jane, let her speak of you wellof ill;But marry me out of hand: we two shall be happystill.'XIV.'Marry you, Willy!' said I, 'but I needs must speakmy mind,And I fear you'll listen to tales, be jealous and hardand unkind.'But he turn'd and claspt me in his arms, and answer'd,'No, love, no;'Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy yearsago.XV.So Willy and I were wedded: I wore a lilacgown;And the ringers rang with a will, and he gave theringers a crown.But the first that ever I bare was dead before he wasborn,Shadow and shine is life, little Annie, flower andthorn.XVI.That was the first time, too, that ever I thought ofdeath.There lay the sweet little body that never had drawna breath.I had not wept, little Anne, not since I had been awife;But I wept like a child that day, for the babe hadfought for his life.XVII.His dear little face was troubled, as if with anger orpain:I look'd at the still little body—his trouble had allbeen in vain.For Willy I cannot weep, I shall see him anothermorn:But I wept like a child for the child that was deadbefore he was born.XVIII.But he cheer'd me, my good man, for he seldom said menay:Kind, like a man, was he; like a man, too, would havehis way:Never jealous—not he: we had many a happyyear;And he died, and I could not weep—my own timeseem'd so near.XIX.But I wish'd it had been God's will that I, too, thencould have died:I began to be tired a little, and fain had slept at hisside.And that was ten years back, or more, if I don'tforget:But as to the children, Annie, they're all about meyet.XX.Pattering over the boards, my Annie who left me attwo,Patter she goes, my own little Annie, an Annie likeyou:Pattering over the boards, she comes and goes at herwill,While Harry is in the five-acre and Charlie ploughingthe hill.XXI.And Harry and Charlie, I hear them too—they singto their team:Often they come to the door in a pleasant kind of adream.They come and sit by my chair, they hover about mybed—I am not always certain if they be alive ordead.XXII.And yet I know for a truth, there's none of themleft alive;For Harry went at sixty, your father at sixty-five:And Willy, my eldest born, at nigh threescore andten;I knew them all as babies, and now they're elderlymen.XXIII.For mine is a time of peace, it is not often Igrieve;I am oftener sitting at home in my father's farmat eve:And the neighbors come and laugh and gossip, andso do I;I find myself often laughing at things that have longgone by.XXIV.To be sure the preacher says, our sins should makeus sad:But mine is a time of peace, and there is Grace tobe had;And God, not man, is the Judge of us all when lifeshall cease;And in this Book, little Annie, the message is one ofPeace.XXV.And age is a time of peace, so it be free frompain,And happy has been my life; but I would not liveit again.I seem to be tired a little, that's all, and long forrest;Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with thebest.XXVI.So Willy has gone, my beauty, my eldest-born, myflower;But how can I weep for Willy, he has but gone foran hour,—Gone for a minute, my son, from this room into thenext;I, too, shall go in a minute. What time have I tobe vext?XXVII.And Willy's wife has written, she never was over-wise.Get me my glasses, Annie: thank God that I keepmy eyes.There is but a trifle left you, when I shall have pastaway.But stay with the old woman now: you cannot havelong to stay.
NORTHERN FARMER.old style.—
I.Wheer 'asta bean saw long and mea liggin' 'erealoan?Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, doctor's abeanan' agoan:Says that I moant 'a naw moor yaale: but I beant afool:Git ma my yaale, fur I beant a-gooin' to break myrule.II.Doctors, they knaws nowt, for a says what's nawwaystrue:Naw soort o' koind o' use to saay the things thata do.I've 'ed my point o' yaale ivry noight sin' I bean'ere,An' I've 'ed my quart ivry market-noight for foortyyear.III.Parson's a bean loikewoise, an' a sittin' ere o' mybed.'The amoighty's a taakin o' you to 'issen, my friend,''a said,An' a towd ma my sins, an's toithe were due, an' I giedit in hond;I done my duty by un, as I 'a done by thelond.IV.Larn'd a ma' bea. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch tolarn.But a cost oop, thot a did, 'boot Bessy Marris'sbarn.Thof a knaws I hallus voated wi' Squoire an' choorchan staate,An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin theraate.V.An' I hallus comed to 's choorch afoor moy Sally wurdead,An' 'eerd un a bummin' awaay loike a buzzard-clock*ower my yead,An' I niver knaw'd whot a mean'd but I thowt a 'adsummut to saay,An I thowt a said whot a owt to 'a said an' I comedawaay.*Cockchafer.VI.Bessy Marris's barn! tha knaws she laaid it tomea.Mowt 'a bean, mayhap, for she wur a bad un,shea.'Siver, I kep un, I kep un, my lass, tha mun under-stond;I done my duty by un as I 'a done by thelond.VII.But Parson a comes an' a goos, an' a says it easy an'freea'The amoighty's a taakin o' you to 'issen, my friend,'says 'ea.I weant saay men be loiars, thof summun said it in'aaste:But a reads wonn sarmin a weeak, an' I 'a stubb'dThornaby waaste.VIII.D'ya moind the waaste, my lass? naw, naw, tha wasnot born then;Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eerd unmysen;Moast loike a butter-bump,* for I 'eerd un aboot anaboot,But I stubb'd un oop wi' the lot, an' raaved anrembled un oot.*Bittern.IX.Keaper's it wur; fo' they fun un theer a laaid on 'isfaaceDoon i' the woild 'enemies* afoor I comed to theplaace.Noaks or Thimbleby—toner 'ed shot un as dead asa naail.Noaks wur 'ang'd for it oop at 'soize—but git mamy yaale.*Anenomes.X.Dubbut looak at the waaste: theer warn't not feadfor a cow:Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' looak at itnow—Warn't worth nowt a haacre, an' now theer's lots o'fead,Fourscore yows upon it an' some on it doon insead.XI.Nobbut a bit on it's left, an' I mean'd to 'a stubb'dit at fall,Done it ta-year I mean'd, an' runn'd plow thruff itan' all,If godamoighty an' parson 'ud nobbut let maaloan,Mea, wi' haate oonderd haacre o' Squoire's an' londo' my oan.XII.Do godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taakin' o'mea?I beant wonn as saws 'ere a bean an' yonder apea;An' Squoire 'ull be sa mad an' all—a' dear a'dear!And I 'a monaged for Squoire come Michaelmasthirty year.XIII.A mowt 'a taaken Joanes, as 'ant a 'aapoth o'sense,Or a mowt a' taaken Robins—a niver mended afence:But godamoighty a moost taake mea an' taake manowWi 'auf the cows to cauve an' Thornaby holms toplow!XIV.Looak 'ow quoloty smoiles when they sees ma apassin' by,Says to thessen naw doot 'what a mon a besewer-ly!'For they knaws what I bean to Squoire sin fust acomed to the 'All;I done my duty by Squoire an' I done my dutyby all.XV.Squoire's in Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a towroite,For who's to howd the lond ater mea thot muddlesma quoit;Sartin-sewer I bea, thot a weant niver give it toJoanes,Noither a moant to Robins—a niver rembles thestoans.XVI.But summun 'ull come ater mea mayhap wi' 'is kittleo' steamHuzzin' an' maazin' the blessed fealds wi' the Divil'soan team.Gin I mun doy I mun doy, an' loife they says issweet,But gin I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abear tosee it.XVII.What atta stannin' theer for, an' doesn bring ma theyaale?Doctor's a 'tottler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owdtaale;I weant break rules for Doctor, a knaws naw moornor a floy;Git ma my yaale, I tell tha, an' gin I mun doy Imun doy.
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,The vapors weep their burthen to the ground,Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,And after many a summer dies the swan.Me only cruel immortalityConsumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,Here at the quiet limit of the world,A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dreamThe ever-silent spaces of the East,Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man—So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'dTo his great heart none other than a God!I ask'd thee, 'Give me immortality.'Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,Like wealthy men who care not how they give.But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills,And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'dTo dwell in presence of immortal youth,Immortal age beside immortal youth,And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love,Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now,Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tearsTo hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift:Why should a man desire in any wayTo vary from the kindly race of men,Or pass beyond the goal of ordinanceWhere all should pause, as is most meet for all?A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comesA glimpse of that dark world where I was born.Once more the old mysterious glimmer stealsFrom thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,And bosom beating with a heart renew'd.Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom,Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild teamWhich love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes,And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.Lo! ever thus thou growest beautifulIn silence, then before thine answer givenDepartest, and thy tears are on my cheek.Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,And make me tremble lest a saying learnt,In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?'The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.'Ay me! ay me! with what another heartIn days far-off, and with what other eyesI used to watch—if I be he that watch'd—The lucid outline forming round thee; sawThe dim curls kindle into sunny rings;Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my bloodGlow with the glow that slowly crimson'd allThy presence and thy portals, while I lay,Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warmWith kisses balmier than half-opening budsOf April, and could hear the lips that kiss'dWhispering I knew not what of wild and sweet,Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.Yet hold me not for ever in thine East:How can my nature longer mix with thine?Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, coldAre all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feetUpon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steamFloats up from those dim fields about the homesOf happy men that have the power to die,And grassy barrows of the happier dead.Release me, and restore me to the ground;Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave:Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn;I earth in earth forget these empty courts,And thee returning on thy silver wheels.
I.We left behind the painted buoyThat tosses at the harbor-mouth;And madly danced our hearts with joy,As fast we fleeted to the South:How fresh was every sight and soundOn open main or winding shore!We knew the merry world was round,And we might sail for evermore.II.Warm broke the breeze against the brow,Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail:The Lady's-head upon the prowCaught the shrill salt, and sheer'd the gale.The broad seas swell'd to meet the keel,And swept behind: so quick the run,We felt the good ship shake and reel,We seem'd to sail into the Sun!III.How oft we saw the Sun retire,And burn the threshold of the night,Fall from his Ocean-lane of fire,And sleep beneath his pillar'd light!How oft the purple-skirted robeOf twilight slowly downward drawn,As thro' the slumber of the globeAgain we dash'd into the dawn!IV.New stars all night above the brimOf waters lighten'd into view;They climb'd as quickly, for the rimChanged every moment as we flew.Far ran the naked moon acrossThe houseless ocean's heaving field,Or flying shone, the silver bossOf her own halo's dusky shield;V.The peaky islet shifted shapes,High towns on hills were dimly seen,We past long lines of Northern capesAnd dewy Northern meadows green.We came to warmer waves, and deepAcross the boundless east we drove,Where those long swells of breaker sweepThe nutmeg rocks and isles clove.VI.By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade,Gloom'd the low coast and quivering brineWith ashy rains, that spreading madeFantastic plume or sable pine;By sands and steaming flats, and floodsOf mighty mouth, we scudded fast,And hills and scarlet-mingled woodsGlow'd for a moment as we past.VII.O hundred shores of happy climes,How swiftly stream'd ye by the bark!At times the whole sea burn'd, at timesWith wakes of fire we tore the dark;At times a carven craft would shootFrom havens hid in fairy bowers,With naked limbs and flowers and fruit,But we nor paused for fruit nor flowers.VIII.For one fair Vision ever fledDown the waste waters day and night,And still we follow'd where she led,In hope to gain upon her flight.Her face was evermore unseen,And fixt upon the far sea-line;But each man murmur'd 'O my Queen,I follow till I make thee mine.'IX.And now we lost her, now she gleam'dLike Fancy made of golden air,Now nearer to the prow she seem'dLike Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair,Now high on waves that idly burstLike Heavenly Hope she crown'd the seaAnd now, the bloodless point reversed,She bore the blade of Liberty.X.And only one among us—himWe please not—he was seldom pleased:He saw not far: his eyes were dim:But ours he swore were all diseased.'A ship of fools' he shriek'd in spite,'A ship of fools' he sneer'd and wept.And overboard one stormy nightHe cast his body, and on we swept.XI.And never sail of ours was furl'd,Nor anchor dropt at eve or morn;We loved the glories of the world,But laws of nature were our scorn;For blasts would rise and rave and cease,But whence were those that drove the sailAcross the whirlwind's heart of peace,And to and thro' the counter-gale?XII.Again to colder climes we came,For still we follow'd where she led:Now mate is blind and captain lame,And half the crew are sick or dead.But blind or lame or sick or soundWe follow that which flies before:We know the merry world is round,And we may sail for evermore.
All along the valley, stream that flashest white,Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night,All along the valley, where thy waters flow,I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years ago.All along the valley while I walk'd to-day,The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away;For all along the valley, down thy rocky bedThy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead,And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree,The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
Once in a golden hourI cast to earth a seed.Up there came a flower,The people said, a weed.To and fro they wentThro' my garden-bower,And muttering discontentCursed me and my flower.Then it grew so tallIt wore a crown of light,But thieves from o'er the wallStole the seed by night.Sow'd it far and wideBy every town and tower,Till all the people cried'Splendid is the flower.'Read my little fable:He that runs may read.Most can raise the flowers now,For all have got the seed.And some are pretty enough,And some are poor indeed;And now again the peopleCall it but a weed.
Fair is her cottage in its place,Where yon broad water sweetly slowly glides.It sees itself from thatch to baseDream in the sliding tides.And fairer she, but ah how soon to die!Her quiet dream of life this hour may cease.Her peaceful being slowly passes byTo some more perfect peace.
He rose at dawn and, fired with hope,Shot o'er the seething harbor-bar,And reach'd the ship and caught the rope,And whistled to the morning star.And while he whistled long and loudHe heard a fierce mermaiden cry,'O boy, tho' thou art young and proud,I see the place where thou wilt lie.'The sands and yeasty surges mixIn caves about the dreary bay,And on thy ribs the limpet sticks,And in thy heart the scrawl shall play.''Fool,' he answer'd, 'death is sureTo those that stay and those that roam,But I will nevermore endureTo sit with empty hands at home.'My mother clings about my neck,My sisters crying "stay for shame;"My father raves of death and wreck,They are all to blame, they are all to blame.'God help me! save I take my partOf danger in the roaring sea,A devil rises in my heart,Far worse than any death to me.'
'Whither O whither love shall we go,For a score of sweet little summers or so'The sweet little wife of the singer said,On the day that follow'd the day she was wed,'Whither O whither love shall we go?'And the singer shaking his curly headTurn'd as he sat, and struck the keysThere at his right with a sudden crash,Singing, 'and shall it be over the seasWith a crew that is neither rude nor rash,But a bevy of Eroses apple-cheek'd,In a shallop of crystal ivory-beak'd,With a satin sail of a ruby glow,To a sweet little Eden on earth that I know,A mountain islet pointed and peak'd;Waves on a diamond shingle dash,Cataract brooks to the ocean run,Fairily-delicate palaces shineMixt with myrtle and clad with vine,And overstream'd and silvery-streak'dWith many a rivulet high against the SunThe facets of the glorious mountain flashAbove the valleys of palm and pine.''Thither O thither, love, let us go.''No, no, no!For in all that exquisite isle, my dear,There is but one bird with a musical throat,And his compass is but of a single note,That it makes one weary to hear.''Mock me not! mock me not! love, let us go.''No, love, no.For the bud ever breaks into bloom on the tree,And a storm never wakes on the lonely sea,And a worm is there in the lonely wood,That pierces the liver and blackens the blood,And makes it a sorrow to be.'
'Your ringlets, your ringlets,That look so golden-gay,If you will give me one, but one,To kiss it night and day,Then never chilling touch of TimeWill turn it silver-gray;And then shall I know it is all true goldTo flame and sparkle and stream as of old,Till all the comets in heaven are cold,And all her stars decay.''Then take it, love, and put it by;This cannot change, nor yet can I.'
2.'My ringlet, my ringlet,That art so golden-gay,Now never chilling touch of TimeCan turn thee silver-gray;And a lad may wink, and a girl may hint,And a fool may say his say;For my doubts and fears were all amiss,And I swear henceforth by this and this,That a doubt will only come for a kiss,And a fear to be kiss'd away.''Then kiss it, love, and put it by:If this can change, why so can I.'II.O Ringlet, O Ringlet,I kiss'd you night and day,And Ringlet, O Ringlet,You still are golden-gay,But Ringlet, O Ringlet,You should be silver-gray:For what is this which now I'm told,I that took you for true gold,She that gave you's bought and sold,Sold, sold.2.O Ringlet, O Ringlet,She blush'd a rosy red,When Ringlet, O Ringlet,She clipt you from her head,And Ringlet, O Ringlet,She gave you me, and said,'Come, kiss it, love, and put it byIf this can change, why so can I.'O fie, you golden nothing, fieYou golden lie.3.O Ringlet, O Ringlet,I count you much to blame,For Ringlet, O Ringlet,You put me much to shame,So Ringlet, O Ringlet,I doom you to the flame.For what is this which now I learn,Has given all my faith a turn?Burn, you glossy heretic, burn,Burn, burn.
March 7, 1863.
Sea-kings' daughter from over the sea,Alexandra!Saxon and Norman and Dane are we,But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee,Alexandra!Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet!Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street!Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet,Scatter the blossom under her feet!Break, happy land, into earlier flowers!Make music, O bird, in the new-budded bowers!Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer!Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours!Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare!Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers!Flames, on the windy headland flare!Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire!Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air!Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire!Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higherMelt into stars for the land's desire!Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice,Roll as a ground-swell dash'd on the strand,Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land,And welcome her, welcome the land's desire,The sea-kings' daughter as happy as fair,Blissful bride of a blissful heir,Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea—O joy to the people and joy to the throne,Come to us, love us, and make us your own:For Saxon or Dane or Norman we,Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be,We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee,Alexandra!
Uplift a thousand voices full and sweet,In this wide hall with earth's inventions stored,And praise th' invisible universal Lord,Who lets once more in peace the nations meet,Where Science, Art, and Labor have outpour'dTheir myriad horns of plenty at our feet.O silent father of our Kings to beMourn'd in this golden hour of jubilee,For this, for all, we weep our thanks to thee!The world-compelling plan was thine,And, lo! the long laborious milesOf Palace; lo! the giant aisles,Rich in model and design;Harvest-tool and husbandry,Loom and wheel and engin'ry,Secrets of the sullen mine,Steel and gold, and corn and wine,Fabric rough, or Fairy fine,Sunny tokens of the Line,Polar marvels, and a feastOf wonder, out of West and East,And shapes and hues of Part divine!All of beauty, all of use,That one fair planet can produce.Brought from under every star,Blown from over every main,And mixt, as life is mixt with pain,The works of peace with works of war.O ye, the wise who think, the wise who reign,From growing commerce loose her latest chain,And let the fair white-winged peacemaker flyTo happy havens under all the sky,And mix the seasons and the golden hours,Till each man finds his own in all men's good,And all men work in noble brotherhood,Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers,And ruling by obeying Nature's powers,And gathering all the fruits of peace and crown'd withall her flowers.
Dear, near and true—no truer Time himselfCan prove you, tho' he make you evermoreDearer and nearer, as the rapid of lifeShoots to the fall—take this, and pray that he,Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him,May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn,As one who feels the immeasurable world,Attain the wise indifference of the wise;And after Autumn past—if left to passHis autumn into seeming-leafless days—Draw toward the long frost and longest night,Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruitWhich in our winter woodland looks a flower.**The fruit of the Spindle-tree (Euonymus Europaeus).
While about the shore of Mona those Neronian legionariesBurnt and broke the grove and altar of the Druid and Druidess,Far in the East Boadicea, standing loftily charioted,Mad and maddening all that heard her in her fierce volubility,Girt by half the tribes of Britain, near the colony Camulodune,Yell'd and shriek'd between her daughters o'er a wild confederacy.'They that scorn the tribes and call us Britain's barbarous populaces,Did they hear me, would they listen, did they pity me supplicating?Shall I heed them in their anguish? shall I brook to be supplicated?Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trinobant!Must their ever-ravening eagle's beak and talon annihilate us?Tear the noble hear of Britain, leave it gorily quivering?Bark an answer, Britain's raven! bark and blacken innumerable,Blacken round the Roman carrion, make the carcase a skeleton,Kite and kestrel, wolf and wolfkin, from the wilderness, wallow in it,Till the face of Bel be brighten'd, Taranis be propitiated.Lo their colony half-defended! lo their colony, Camulodune!There the horde of Roman robbers mock at a barbarous adversary.There the hive of Roman liars worship a gluttonous emperor-idiot.Such is Rome, and this her deity: hear it, Spirit of Cassivelaun!'Hear it, Gods! the Gods have heard it, O Icenian, O Coritanian!Doubt not ye the Gods have answer'd, Catieuchlanian, Trinobant.These have told us all their anger in miraculous utterances,Thunder, a flying fire in heaven, a murmur heard aerially,Phantom sound of blows descending, moan of an enemy massacred,Phantom wail of women and children, multitudinous agonies.Bloodily flow'd the Tamesa rolling phantom bodies of horses and men;Then a phantom colony smoulder'd on the refluent estuary;Lastly yonder yester-even, suddenly giddily tottering—There was one who watch'd and told me—down their statue of Victory fell.Lo their precious Roman bantling, lo the colony Camulodune,Shall we teach it a Roman lesson? shall we care to be pitiful?Shall we deal with it as an infant? shall we dandle it amorously?'Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trinobant!While I roved about the forest, long and bitterly meditating,There I heard them in the darkness, at the mystical ceremony,Loosely robed in flying raiment, sang the terrible prophetesses."Fear not, isle of blowing woodland, isle of silvery parapets!Tho' the Roman eagle shadow thee, tho' the gathering enemy narrow thee,Thou shalt wax and he shall dwindle, thou shalt be the mighty one yet!Thine the liberty, thine the glory, thine the deeds to be celebrated,Thine the myriad-rolling ocean, light and shadow illimitable,Thine the lands of lasting summer, many-blossoming Paradises,Thine the North and thine the South and thine the battle-thunder of God."So they chanted: how shall Britain light upon auguries happier?So they chanted in the darkness, and there cometh a victory now.Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trinobant!Me the wife of rich Prasutagus, me the lover of liberty,Me they seized and me they tortured, me they lash'd and humiliated,Me the sport of ribald Veterans, mine of ruffian violators!See they sit, they hide their faces, miserable in ignominy!Wherefore in me burns an anger, not by blood to be satiated.Lo the palaces and the temple, lo the colony Camulodune!There they ruled, and thence they wasted all the flourishing territory,Thither at their will they haled the yellow-ringleted Britoness—Bloodily, bloodily fall the battle-axe, unexhausted, inexorable.Shout Icenian, Catieuchlanian, shout Coritanian, Trinobant,Till the victim hear within and yearn to hurry precipitouslyLike the leaf in a roaring whirlwind, like the smoke in a hurricane whirl'd.Lo the colony, there they rioted in the city of Cunobeline!There they drank in cups of emerald, there at tables of ebony lay,Rolling on their purple couches in their tender effeminacy.There they dwelt and there they rioted; there—there—they dwell no more.Burst the gates, and burn the palaces, break the works of the statuary,Take the hoary Roman head and shatter it, hold it abominable,Cut the Roman boy to pieces in his lust and voluptuousness,Lash the maiden into swooning, me they lash'd and humiliated,Chop the breasts from off the mother, dash the brains of the little one out,Up my Britons, on my chariot, on my chargers, trample them under us.'So the Queen Boadicea, standing loftily charioted,Brandishing in her hand a dart and rolling glances lioness-like,Yell'd and shriek'd between her daughters in her fierce volubility.Till her people all around the royal chariot agitated,Madly dash'd the darts together, writhing barbarous lineaments,Made the noise of frosty woodlands, when they shiver in January,Roar'd as when the rolling breakers boom and blanch on the precipices,Yell'd as when the winds of winter tear an oak on a promontory.So the silent colony hearing her tumultuous adversariesClash the darts and on the buckler beat with rapid unanimous hand,Thought on all her evil tyrannies, all her pitiless avarice,Till she felt the heart within her fall and flutter tremulously,Then her pulses at the clamoring of her enemy fainted away.Out of evil evil flourishes, out of tyranny tyranny buds.Ran the land with Roman slaughter, multitudinous agonies.Perish'd many a maid and matron, many a valorous legionary.Fell the colony, city, and citadel, London, Verulam, Camulodune.