ROBERT NICHOLS(TRINITY)THE MAN OF HONOURI.O hadI died when o'er the sullen plainThe harsh light drifted and the roaring gunsLifted their voices summoning amainYouth from its joy in storms and flying sunsAnd happy comradeship of weathered men,All had been as in purpose due and well,Honourable my service had been thenAnd honoured the blank spot on which I fell.But now—O heart!—how much dishonoured I,And by my own hand too—twice bitter case—My true love stained with secret infamy,My treachery disguised by friendship's face,And that bare passion bade me forth to dieFouled to the instrument of my disgrace!II.What has a man but honour? When 'tis goneThe man is gone: for all that in him blentTo strike a star for men to gaze uponBecomes his quicker ruin's instrument.For from that height to which with toil we climb,From that we fall and to the further pit,Who honour bore and lost. This is my crimeAnd this the daily punishment of it:—To honour honour more than e'er I didWhen I possessed it, to esteem the lotOf those whose treasure from themselves lies hidOr those who lose it and yet miss it not.O God, now raise me to the thing forbidOr from my eyes its pure light wholly blot!III.Wherefore on God thou callest? 'Tis in vain:Our hearts our fortunes are until we die,And naught can change them or for loss or gainSave Courage at least glance of Honour's eye.For Honour, daughter of sound brain and blood,Motions us ever though we may not heed;She is imperative hunger for the good,Good so instinctive that to gain we bleed.Wherefore, dishonoured soul, part from thy love—Fearfuller wrench than muscle torn from bone—Or her soul too must perish here. Enough!I cannot leave her. Then there is but oneRefuge for us now to make trial of,—Refuge to which I cannot fare alone.IV.They burned too deep. Had they but taken that lightlyWhich take they must, Love being absolute lord—Parted by now they yet had rendered rightlyMemory each to each, love's last reward.But of their love maybe a fiercer glowThey had who saved their honour at the lastBy direst means. Whether it be or no,In death their faces held asomethingfast.Beneath the fall's white glare and drumming zest,Where on black depths an hundred suns are burning,Their bodies bound, like faggots, breast to breastRose for a peaceful space, lazily turning:Their mutual smile acknowledgedthiswas best.Love had found Honour's way. O bitter learning!
ROBERT NICHOLS(TRINITY)
ROBERT NICHOLS(TRINITY)
I.
O hadI died when o'er the sullen plainThe harsh light drifted and the roaring gunsLifted their voices summoning amainYouth from its joy in storms and flying sunsAnd happy comradeship of weathered men,All had been as in purpose due and well,Honourable my service had been thenAnd honoured the blank spot on which I fell.But now—O heart!—how much dishonoured I,And by my own hand too—twice bitter case—My true love stained with secret infamy,My treachery disguised by friendship's face,And that bare passion bade me forth to dieFouled to the instrument of my disgrace!
O hadI died when o'er the sullen plainThe harsh light drifted and the roaring gunsLifted their voices summoning amainYouth from its joy in storms and flying sunsAnd happy comradeship of weathered men,All had been as in purpose due and well,Honourable my service had been thenAnd honoured the blank spot on which I fell.But now—O heart!—how much dishonoured I,And by my own hand too—twice bitter case—My true love stained with secret infamy,My treachery disguised by friendship's face,And that bare passion bade me forth to dieFouled to the instrument of my disgrace!
O hadI died when o'er the sullen plainThe harsh light drifted and the roaring gunsLifted their voices summoning amainYouth from its joy in storms and flying sunsAnd happy comradeship of weathered men,All had been as in purpose due and well,Honourable my service had been thenAnd honoured the blank spot on which I fell.
O hadI died when o'er the sullen plain
The harsh light drifted and the roaring guns
Lifted their voices summoning amain
Youth from its joy in storms and flying suns
And happy comradeship of weathered men,
All had been as in purpose due and well,
Honourable my service had been then
And honoured the blank spot on which I fell.
But now—O heart!—how much dishonoured I,And by my own hand too—twice bitter case—My true love stained with secret infamy,My treachery disguised by friendship's face,And that bare passion bade me forth to dieFouled to the instrument of my disgrace!
But now—O heart!—how much dishonoured I,
And by my own hand too—twice bitter case—
My true love stained with secret infamy,
My treachery disguised by friendship's face,
And that bare passion bade me forth to die
Fouled to the instrument of my disgrace!
II.
What has a man but honour? When 'tis goneThe man is gone: for all that in him blentTo strike a star for men to gaze uponBecomes his quicker ruin's instrument.For from that height to which with toil we climb,From that we fall and to the further pit,Who honour bore and lost. This is my crimeAnd this the daily punishment of it:—To honour honour more than e'er I didWhen I possessed it, to esteem the lotOf those whose treasure from themselves lies hidOr those who lose it and yet miss it not.O God, now raise me to the thing forbidOr from my eyes its pure light wholly blot!
What has a man but honour? When 'tis goneThe man is gone: for all that in him blentTo strike a star for men to gaze uponBecomes his quicker ruin's instrument.For from that height to which with toil we climb,From that we fall and to the further pit,Who honour bore and lost. This is my crimeAnd this the daily punishment of it:—To honour honour more than e'er I didWhen I possessed it, to esteem the lotOf those whose treasure from themselves lies hidOr those who lose it and yet miss it not.O God, now raise me to the thing forbidOr from my eyes its pure light wholly blot!
What has a man but honour? When 'tis goneThe man is gone: for all that in him blentTo strike a star for men to gaze uponBecomes his quicker ruin's instrument.For from that height to which with toil we climb,From that we fall and to the further pit,Who honour bore and lost. This is my crimeAnd this the daily punishment of it:—
What has a man but honour? When 'tis gone
The man is gone: for all that in him blent
To strike a star for men to gaze upon
Becomes his quicker ruin's instrument.
For from that height to which with toil we climb,
From that we fall and to the further pit,
Who honour bore and lost. This is my crime
And this the daily punishment of it:—
To honour honour more than e'er I didWhen I possessed it, to esteem the lotOf those whose treasure from themselves lies hidOr those who lose it and yet miss it not.O God, now raise me to the thing forbidOr from my eyes its pure light wholly blot!
To honour honour more than e'er I did
When I possessed it, to esteem the lot
Of those whose treasure from themselves lies hid
Or those who lose it and yet miss it not.
O God, now raise me to the thing forbid
Or from my eyes its pure light wholly blot!
III.
Wherefore on God thou callest? 'Tis in vain:Our hearts our fortunes are until we die,And naught can change them or for loss or gainSave Courage at least glance of Honour's eye.For Honour, daughter of sound brain and blood,Motions us ever though we may not heed;She is imperative hunger for the good,Good so instinctive that to gain we bleed.Wherefore, dishonoured soul, part from thy love—Fearfuller wrench than muscle torn from bone—Or her soul too must perish here. Enough!I cannot leave her. Then there is but oneRefuge for us now to make trial of,—Refuge to which I cannot fare alone.
Wherefore on God thou callest? 'Tis in vain:Our hearts our fortunes are until we die,And naught can change them or for loss or gainSave Courage at least glance of Honour's eye.For Honour, daughter of sound brain and blood,Motions us ever though we may not heed;She is imperative hunger for the good,Good so instinctive that to gain we bleed.Wherefore, dishonoured soul, part from thy love—Fearfuller wrench than muscle torn from bone—Or her soul too must perish here. Enough!I cannot leave her. Then there is but oneRefuge for us now to make trial of,—Refuge to which I cannot fare alone.
Wherefore on God thou callest? 'Tis in vain:Our hearts our fortunes are until we die,And naught can change them or for loss or gainSave Courage at least glance of Honour's eye.For Honour, daughter of sound brain and blood,Motions us ever though we may not heed;She is imperative hunger for the good,Good so instinctive that to gain we bleed.
Wherefore on God thou callest? 'Tis in vain:
Our hearts our fortunes are until we die,
And naught can change them or for loss or gain
Save Courage at least glance of Honour's eye.
For Honour, daughter of sound brain and blood,
Motions us ever though we may not heed;
She is imperative hunger for the good,
Good so instinctive that to gain we bleed.
Wherefore, dishonoured soul, part from thy love—Fearfuller wrench than muscle torn from bone—Or her soul too must perish here. Enough!I cannot leave her. Then there is but oneRefuge for us now to make trial of,—Refuge to which I cannot fare alone.
Wherefore, dishonoured soul, part from thy love—
Fearfuller wrench than muscle torn from bone—
Or her soul too must perish here. Enough!
I cannot leave her. Then there is but one
Refuge for us now to make trial of,—
Refuge to which I cannot fare alone.
IV.
They burned too deep. Had they but taken that lightlyWhich take they must, Love being absolute lord—Parted by now they yet had rendered rightlyMemory each to each, love's last reward.But of their love maybe a fiercer glowThey had who saved their honour at the lastBy direst means. Whether it be or no,In death their faces held asomethingfast.Beneath the fall's white glare and drumming zest,Where on black depths an hundred suns are burning,Their bodies bound, like faggots, breast to breastRose for a peaceful space, lazily turning:Their mutual smile acknowledgedthiswas best.Love had found Honour's way. O bitter learning!
They burned too deep. Had they but taken that lightlyWhich take they must, Love being absolute lord—Parted by now they yet had rendered rightlyMemory each to each, love's last reward.But of their love maybe a fiercer glowThey had who saved their honour at the lastBy direst means. Whether it be or no,In death their faces held asomethingfast.Beneath the fall's white glare and drumming zest,Where on black depths an hundred suns are burning,Their bodies bound, like faggots, breast to breastRose for a peaceful space, lazily turning:Their mutual smile acknowledgedthiswas best.Love had found Honour's way. O bitter learning!
They burned too deep. Had they but taken that lightlyWhich take they must, Love being absolute lord—Parted by now they yet had rendered rightlyMemory each to each, love's last reward.But of their love maybe a fiercer glowThey had who saved their honour at the lastBy direst means. Whether it be or no,In death their faces held asomethingfast.
They burned too deep. Had they but taken that lightly
Which take they must, Love being absolute lord—
Parted by now they yet had rendered rightly
Memory each to each, love's last reward.
But of their love maybe a fiercer glow
They had who saved their honour at the last
By direst means. Whether it be or no,
In death their faces held asomethingfast.
Beneath the fall's white glare and drumming zest,Where on black depths an hundred suns are burning,Their bodies bound, like faggots, breast to breastRose for a peaceful space, lazily turning:Their mutual smile acknowledgedthiswas best.Love had found Honour's way. O bitter learning!
Beneath the fall's white glare and drumming zest,
Where on black depths an hundred suns are burning,
Their bodies bound, like faggots, breast to breast
Rose for a peaceful space, lazily turning:
Their mutual smile acknowledgedthiswas best.
Love had found Honour's way. O bitter learning!