First PhantomWhat heights are these where midway to the seaThe gulls like flakes of snow eddy around!Second PhantomThe purple wastes lie under a shorn sun.They do not bleed, no golden ooze is seen,No arrows pierce them.First PhantomAnd how could it be?A barrier of mud, a sunken realmWith shores where wrecks are rotting are before you.They sleep upon the tideless water.Second PhantomYes,This is a quiet sea of perished dreams!First PhantomGreater than Asia was this kingdom once,But in a war it sank.Second PhantomWhat is the tale?First PhantomThere was a city set upon a hillWhich heaven governed as a pilot guidesThe vessel from the stern, by force of thought.Till spirits here were given air and lightTo prove their natures, for it was the wishOf that first pair which built its earliest hearth.There since the husband worked with iron and fire,Where twenty bellows blew, and all the dayThe anvil sounded in a shop, which seemedA palace thick with stars, and giants boreGreat burdens, wielded sledges, and obeyedThe master workman, so the city heapedGreat store of armament and priceless works.Meanwhile the woman in whose eyes and browThe final reason, compress of all lightMade of all lights absorbed, resolved, and tamedLay like a high serenity of power,Or balanced wisdom, bore great sons to ruleThe state and to preserve it in the warsWhen wars should come. In peace to keep the courts,And laws like to their mother’s face, a faceWhich awed the dullest slave, out of whose brainThe idea like a statue carved in rockBy hammers broken, rolled, beholding it.She taught her sons that some are born to rule,And some to serve, and some to carry torches,And some to blow the bellows for the fireWhere torches may be lit; and how a stateWhere high and low remain as high and lowSo long as nature wills, move in a sphereOf democratic laws, where all may haveThe bread they earn, and where no strength may seizeAnother’s happiness, another’s bread.Hence was it that she fired her sons to driveA giant troubler from the city’s gates,And shut him up in Sicily.But the landOver whose hills and vales the waters lieThere where we look had other life. I speak:It was a land of many lakes and rivers,And plains and meadows, mountains full of ore,Both gold and silver, copper, precious stones.And valued wood, most fruitful of all things,Herbage or roots, or corn, whatever givesDelight or sustenance. And the ruler’s strengthBrought riches from all ports. But to relateIts founder’s part, the country was dividedAmong ten rulers who had sworn to obeyInjunctions carven on a shaft of gold,Erected in the middle of the realm.And here the people of the several StatesGathered for conference on the general weal,And to inquire if any of the statesHad trespassed on the other, or transgressedThe writing on the shaft of gold, and passAppropriate judgment; for upon the shaftCurses were graven on the recreant.And it was written none should take up armsAgainst the other; and if one should raiseHis hand against the central strength (for whereThe shaft of gold stood, there a palace stoodWhere lived a ruler speaking for them all),Then should the others rescue it and flingThe rebels back.Such was this empire lostAnd so did it remain so long as menObeyed the laws and heaven loved. At firstThey practiced wisdom, they despised all thingsSave virtue only, lightly thought of gold,Were sober, hated luxury, knew controlOf passions and of self. And knew that wealthGrows with such virtues, and by unityWith one another, but by zeal for wealthAll friendship dies. And so they waxed in storeOf gold and spirit. But at last the soul,Which was divine and moved in them, fell offAnd weakened, grew diluted with too muchOf human nature, and became unjust,Cruel and base, voracious, drunken, lostTo wisdom, discipline; and the seeing eyeSaw all good things forgotten, but to thoseWho had no eye to see true happinessThey still appeared most blest and glorious,Filled as they were with avarice and lust.So then arose one state, and then anotherAgainst the central ruler, none was freeOf disobedience to the graven wordsUpon the shaft of gold, until at lastThe city on the hill watching the strifeEmbarked with troops.Second PhantomHave you not prophesiedYour country’s fate if you assault the South?It is the zeal for wealth that cries for war.From such a war our spirit shall be lost,Our justice fouled, our friendship turned to hate,Our laughter rendered drunken. We shall beThe city on the hill, the island lost—Have both not perished?First PhantomStay! It is enoughTo live amid the misery of today,Without this contemplation of the past.What is this sky, this earth to which we come?This nothingness, this substance, air and rockWhich to our life is hard realityAnd to our thought a dream? All nature sings,Creates, rejoices, man alone has lifeIn pain as life, unfolding life as pain,As if a child could live but never beDelivered from the womb. And for myselfWhat am I but a creature, heart and head,Hands reaching up to catch at rock or bough?Hands, heart and head of flesh, immortal fire,With feet unshapen, still a part of earthWhere from that undistinguished mass of clayHands, heart and head would pluck them? I could faint,Fly from the task before me but for this:The will which when confronted bares its faceAnd says go on, or lie down with the beastsIn silence and corruption. Let me lookNo more upon this sea!Second PhantomWhere shall we go?First PhantomTo some place less disquieting, more secure.
First PhantomWhat heights are these where midway to the seaThe gulls like flakes of snow eddy around!Second PhantomThe purple wastes lie under a shorn sun.They do not bleed, no golden ooze is seen,No arrows pierce them.First PhantomAnd how could it be?A barrier of mud, a sunken realmWith shores where wrecks are rotting are before you.They sleep upon the tideless water.Second PhantomYes,This is a quiet sea of perished dreams!First PhantomGreater than Asia was this kingdom once,But in a war it sank.Second PhantomWhat is the tale?First PhantomThere was a city set upon a hillWhich heaven governed as a pilot guidesThe vessel from the stern, by force of thought.Till spirits here were given air and lightTo prove their natures, for it was the wishOf that first pair which built its earliest hearth.There since the husband worked with iron and fire,Where twenty bellows blew, and all the dayThe anvil sounded in a shop, which seemedA palace thick with stars, and giants boreGreat burdens, wielded sledges, and obeyedThe master workman, so the city heapedGreat store of armament and priceless works.Meanwhile the woman in whose eyes and browThe final reason, compress of all lightMade of all lights absorbed, resolved, and tamedLay like a high serenity of power,Or balanced wisdom, bore great sons to ruleThe state and to preserve it in the warsWhen wars should come. In peace to keep the courts,And laws like to their mother’s face, a faceWhich awed the dullest slave, out of whose brainThe idea like a statue carved in rockBy hammers broken, rolled, beholding it.She taught her sons that some are born to rule,And some to serve, and some to carry torches,And some to blow the bellows for the fireWhere torches may be lit; and how a stateWhere high and low remain as high and lowSo long as nature wills, move in a sphereOf democratic laws, where all may haveThe bread they earn, and where no strength may seizeAnother’s happiness, another’s bread.Hence was it that she fired her sons to driveA giant troubler from the city’s gates,And shut him up in Sicily.But the landOver whose hills and vales the waters lieThere where we look had other life. I speak:It was a land of many lakes and rivers,And plains and meadows, mountains full of ore,Both gold and silver, copper, precious stones.And valued wood, most fruitful of all things,Herbage or roots, or corn, whatever givesDelight or sustenance. And the ruler’s strengthBrought riches from all ports. But to relateIts founder’s part, the country was dividedAmong ten rulers who had sworn to obeyInjunctions carven on a shaft of gold,Erected in the middle of the realm.And here the people of the several StatesGathered for conference on the general weal,And to inquire if any of the statesHad trespassed on the other, or transgressedThe writing on the shaft of gold, and passAppropriate judgment; for upon the shaftCurses were graven on the recreant.And it was written none should take up armsAgainst the other; and if one should raiseHis hand against the central strength (for whereThe shaft of gold stood, there a palace stoodWhere lived a ruler speaking for them all),Then should the others rescue it and flingThe rebels back.Such was this empire lostAnd so did it remain so long as menObeyed the laws and heaven loved. At firstThey practiced wisdom, they despised all thingsSave virtue only, lightly thought of gold,Were sober, hated luxury, knew controlOf passions and of self. And knew that wealthGrows with such virtues, and by unityWith one another, but by zeal for wealthAll friendship dies. And so they waxed in storeOf gold and spirit. But at last the soul,Which was divine and moved in them, fell offAnd weakened, grew diluted with too muchOf human nature, and became unjust,Cruel and base, voracious, drunken, lostTo wisdom, discipline; and the seeing eyeSaw all good things forgotten, but to thoseWho had no eye to see true happinessThey still appeared most blest and glorious,Filled as they were with avarice and lust.So then arose one state, and then anotherAgainst the central ruler, none was freeOf disobedience to the graven wordsUpon the shaft of gold, until at lastThe city on the hill watching the strifeEmbarked with troops.Second PhantomHave you not prophesiedYour country’s fate if you assault the South?It is the zeal for wealth that cries for war.From such a war our spirit shall be lost,Our justice fouled, our friendship turned to hate,Our laughter rendered drunken. We shall beThe city on the hill, the island lost—Have both not perished?First PhantomStay! It is enoughTo live amid the misery of today,Without this contemplation of the past.What is this sky, this earth to which we come?This nothingness, this substance, air and rockWhich to our life is hard realityAnd to our thought a dream? All nature sings,Creates, rejoices, man alone has lifeIn pain as life, unfolding life as pain,As if a child could live but never beDelivered from the womb. And for myselfWhat am I but a creature, heart and head,Hands reaching up to catch at rock or bough?Hands, heart and head of flesh, immortal fire,With feet unshapen, still a part of earthWhere from that undistinguished mass of clayHands, heart and head would pluck them? I could faint,Fly from the task before me but for this:The will which when confronted bares its faceAnd says go on, or lie down with the beastsIn silence and corruption. Let me lookNo more upon this sea!Second PhantomWhere shall we go?First PhantomTo some place less disquieting, more secure.
First Phantom
What heights are these where midway to the seaThe gulls like flakes of snow eddy around!
Second Phantom
The purple wastes lie under a shorn sun.They do not bleed, no golden ooze is seen,No arrows pierce them.
First Phantom
And how could it be?A barrier of mud, a sunken realmWith shores where wrecks are rotting are before you.They sleep upon the tideless water.
Second Phantom
Yes,This is a quiet sea of perished dreams!
First Phantom
Greater than Asia was this kingdom once,But in a war it sank.
Second Phantom
What is the tale?
First Phantom
There was a city set upon a hillWhich heaven governed as a pilot guidesThe vessel from the stern, by force of thought.Till spirits here were given air and lightTo prove their natures, for it was the wishOf that first pair which built its earliest hearth.There since the husband worked with iron and fire,Where twenty bellows blew, and all the dayThe anvil sounded in a shop, which seemedA palace thick with stars, and giants boreGreat burdens, wielded sledges, and obeyedThe master workman, so the city heapedGreat store of armament and priceless works.Meanwhile the woman in whose eyes and browThe final reason, compress of all lightMade of all lights absorbed, resolved, and tamedLay like a high serenity of power,Or balanced wisdom, bore great sons to ruleThe state and to preserve it in the warsWhen wars should come. In peace to keep the courts,And laws like to their mother’s face, a faceWhich awed the dullest slave, out of whose brainThe idea like a statue carved in rockBy hammers broken, rolled, beholding it.She taught her sons that some are born to rule,And some to serve, and some to carry torches,And some to blow the bellows for the fireWhere torches may be lit; and how a stateWhere high and low remain as high and lowSo long as nature wills, move in a sphereOf democratic laws, where all may haveThe bread they earn, and where no strength may seizeAnother’s happiness, another’s bread.Hence was it that she fired her sons to driveA giant troubler from the city’s gates,And shut him up in Sicily.
But the landOver whose hills and vales the waters lieThere where we look had other life. I speak:It was a land of many lakes and rivers,And plains and meadows, mountains full of ore,Both gold and silver, copper, precious stones.And valued wood, most fruitful of all things,Herbage or roots, or corn, whatever givesDelight or sustenance. And the ruler’s strengthBrought riches from all ports. But to relateIts founder’s part, the country was dividedAmong ten rulers who had sworn to obeyInjunctions carven on a shaft of gold,Erected in the middle of the realm.And here the people of the several StatesGathered for conference on the general weal,And to inquire if any of the statesHad trespassed on the other, or transgressedThe writing on the shaft of gold, and passAppropriate judgment; for upon the shaftCurses were graven on the recreant.And it was written none should take up armsAgainst the other; and if one should raiseHis hand against the central strength (for whereThe shaft of gold stood, there a palace stoodWhere lived a ruler speaking for them all),Then should the others rescue it and flingThe rebels back.
Such was this empire lostAnd so did it remain so long as menObeyed the laws and heaven loved. At firstThey practiced wisdom, they despised all thingsSave virtue only, lightly thought of gold,Were sober, hated luxury, knew controlOf passions and of self. And knew that wealthGrows with such virtues, and by unityWith one another, but by zeal for wealthAll friendship dies. And so they waxed in storeOf gold and spirit. But at last the soul,Which was divine and moved in them, fell offAnd weakened, grew diluted with too muchOf human nature, and became unjust,Cruel and base, voracious, drunken, lostTo wisdom, discipline; and the seeing eyeSaw all good things forgotten, but to thoseWho had no eye to see true happinessThey still appeared most blest and glorious,Filled as they were with avarice and lust.So then arose one state, and then anotherAgainst the central ruler, none was freeOf disobedience to the graven wordsUpon the shaft of gold, until at lastThe city on the hill watching the strifeEmbarked with troops.
Second Phantom
Have you not prophesiedYour country’s fate if you assault the South?It is the zeal for wealth that cries for war.From such a war our spirit shall be lost,Our justice fouled, our friendship turned to hate,Our laughter rendered drunken. We shall beThe city on the hill, the island lost—Have both not perished?
First Phantom
Stay! It is enoughTo live amid the misery of today,Without this contemplation of the past.What is this sky, this earth to which we come?This nothingness, this substance, air and rockWhich to our life is hard realityAnd to our thought a dream? All nature sings,Creates, rejoices, man alone has lifeIn pain as life, unfolding life as pain,As if a child could live but never beDelivered from the womb. And for myselfWhat am I but a creature, heart and head,Hands reaching up to catch at rock or bough?Hands, heart and head of flesh, immortal fire,With feet unshapen, still a part of earthWhere from that undistinguished mass of clayHands, heart and head would pluck them? I could faint,Fly from the task before me but for this:The will which when confronted bares its faceAnd says go on, or lie down with the beastsIn silence and corruption. Let me lookNo more upon this sea!
Second Phantom
Where shall we go?
First Phantom
To some place less disquieting, more secure.
(They leave the heights and descend, approaching a mysterious place where heaven and earth are connected by gates.)
(They leave the heights and descend, approaching a mysterious place where heaven and earth are connected by gates.)
First PhantomI can no further walk or fly.Second PhantomYou enter at these gates near by.First PhantomI fall through space. Your hand, my friend.Second PhantomQuietly like a star descend.
First PhantomI can no further walk or fly.Second PhantomYou enter at these gates near by.First PhantomI fall through space. Your hand, my friend.Second PhantomQuietly like a star descend.
First Phantom
I can no further walk or fly.
Second Phantom
You enter at these gates near by.
First Phantom
I fall through space. Your hand, my friend.
Second Phantom
Quietly like a star descend.
(They pass through the gates into a meadow.)
First PhantomWhat is this meadow which I see?Second PhantomHere come the souls of men to be.Can you remember what you saidAmong the living and the dead:I would know heaven’s deepest lawAnd flood the world of men with light,I would bring justice and be just.First PhantomOut of each soul’s prenatal nightSomething of what you say returns.The soul descending into dustLoses its memory as it burnsLess brightly when the spirit wanes.Second PhantomBehold that pillar of splendor shiningAnd bound to earth and heaven by chains!You see the distaff to it fixedAnd in the distaff whorls of iron,Each rising to a higher rim,And on each whirling rim a sirenChants, as you hear, her solemn hymn.First PhantomI hear it with the singing mixedOf one upon whose giant kneeThe distaff turns to hands that reachFrom thrones which stand at equal spaces.Second PhantomThe giant is Necessity,The Fates are reaching from the thrones.First PhantomSuch garlands for such darkened faces!What are these solemn monotones,Which are not music, are not speech?Second PhantomThey labor through Eternity.The Universe of visible thingsTurns with the distaff here again.The dead come back with questioningsOf earthly failure, loss or pain,And would choose better than before.Some say that Agamemnon choseThe loneliness of eagle wingsIn hatred of his mortal woes.First PhantomFrom dreams like these I must be free! I know,Dread phantom, you are nothing but myself.You stand before me lately, mocking elf,Too much, and follow me where’er I go.What this portends I know not, death I fear.But what seems just to do I shall perform.A nation’s destiny is mine to steer,A people’s hope is on me in the storm.Behind these voices when they sing or laughI hear the droning of the telegraph:Come! I would study now the last dispatches.Second PhantomNo meaning it is clear your soul attachesTo thrones, or sirens, or the giant knees.You have not fixed upon a policy.First PhantomI shall be guided—Second PhantomBy necessity—First PhantomWell, yes, but by the will of God as well.Second PhantomHow can you tell it from the will of hell?
First PhantomWhat is this meadow which I see?Second PhantomHere come the souls of men to be.Can you remember what you saidAmong the living and the dead:I would know heaven’s deepest lawAnd flood the world of men with light,I would bring justice and be just.First PhantomOut of each soul’s prenatal nightSomething of what you say returns.The soul descending into dustLoses its memory as it burnsLess brightly when the spirit wanes.Second PhantomBehold that pillar of splendor shiningAnd bound to earth and heaven by chains!You see the distaff to it fixedAnd in the distaff whorls of iron,Each rising to a higher rim,And on each whirling rim a sirenChants, as you hear, her solemn hymn.First PhantomI hear it with the singing mixedOf one upon whose giant kneeThe distaff turns to hands that reachFrom thrones which stand at equal spaces.Second PhantomThe giant is Necessity,The Fates are reaching from the thrones.First PhantomSuch garlands for such darkened faces!What are these solemn monotones,Which are not music, are not speech?Second PhantomThey labor through Eternity.The Universe of visible thingsTurns with the distaff here again.The dead come back with questioningsOf earthly failure, loss or pain,And would choose better than before.Some say that Agamemnon choseThe loneliness of eagle wingsIn hatred of his mortal woes.First PhantomFrom dreams like these I must be free! I know,Dread phantom, you are nothing but myself.You stand before me lately, mocking elf,Too much, and follow me where’er I go.What this portends I know not, death I fear.But what seems just to do I shall perform.A nation’s destiny is mine to steer,A people’s hope is on me in the storm.Behind these voices when they sing or laughI hear the droning of the telegraph:Come! I would study now the last dispatches.Second PhantomNo meaning it is clear your soul attachesTo thrones, or sirens, or the giant knees.You have not fixed upon a policy.First PhantomI shall be guided—Second PhantomBy necessity—First PhantomWell, yes, but by the will of God as well.Second PhantomHow can you tell it from the will of hell?
First Phantom
What is this meadow which I see?
Second Phantom
Here come the souls of men to be.Can you remember what you saidAmong the living and the dead:I would know heaven’s deepest lawAnd flood the world of men with light,I would bring justice and be just.
First Phantom
Out of each soul’s prenatal nightSomething of what you say returns.The soul descending into dustLoses its memory as it burnsLess brightly when the spirit wanes.
Second Phantom
Behold that pillar of splendor shiningAnd bound to earth and heaven by chains!You see the distaff to it fixedAnd in the distaff whorls of iron,Each rising to a higher rim,And on each whirling rim a sirenChants, as you hear, her solemn hymn.
First Phantom
I hear it with the singing mixedOf one upon whose giant kneeThe distaff turns to hands that reachFrom thrones which stand at equal spaces.
Second Phantom
The giant is Necessity,The Fates are reaching from the thrones.
First Phantom
Such garlands for such darkened faces!What are these solemn monotones,Which are not music, are not speech?
Second Phantom
They labor through Eternity.The Universe of visible thingsTurns with the distaff here again.The dead come back with questioningsOf earthly failure, loss or pain,And would choose better than before.Some say that Agamemnon choseThe loneliness of eagle wingsIn hatred of his mortal woes.
First Phantom
From dreams like these I must be free! I know,Dread phantom, you are nothing but myself.You stand before me lately, mocking elf,Too much, and follow me where’er I go.What this portends I know not, death I fear.But what seems just to do I shall perform.A nation’s destiny is mine to steer,A people’s hope is on me in the storm.Behind these voices when they sing or laughI hear the droning of the telegraph:Come! I would study now the last dispatches.
Second Phantom
No meaning it is clear your soul attachesTo thrones, or sirens, or the giant knees.You have not fixed upon a policy.
First Phantom
I shall be guided—
Second Phantom
By necessity—
First Phantom
Well, yes, but by the will of God as well.
Second Phantom
How can you tell it from the will of hell?
(Voices from the thrones.)
First ThroneHere I sit spinningFrom what beginningDid I begin?Second ThroneGive me the thread!I will assign himGrief to refine him,Thorns for his head.Toil never endingUp from his birthThis shall be leavenTo lift him from earthUp into heaven.
First ThroneHere I sit spinningFrom what beginningDid I begin?Second ThroneGive me the thread!I will assign himGrief to refine him,Thorns for his head.Toil never endingUp from his birthThis shall be leavenTo lift him from earthUp into heaven.
First Throne
Here I sit spinningFrom what beginningDid I begin?
Second Throne
Give me the thread!I will assign himGrief to refine him,Thorns for his head.Toil never endingUp from his birthThis shall be leavenTo lift him from earthUp into heaven.
(Many souls are crowded into the meadow. A figure takes from the lap of Lachesis lots and scatters them.)
(Many souls are crowded into the meadow. A figure takes from the lap of Lachesis lots and scatters them.)
Second PhantomWho honors heaven, heaven wins.Not here your fate on earth begins.I only show you where you stoodAmid the fates and now your workOf justice and of brotherhood.You’re weary, yet you cannot shrinkThe task assumed—how it increases!A giant hand thrust in releasesThe numbered lots of mortal life,There from the apron of Lachesis,And throws them to the multitudeAwaiting mortal strife.Second ThroneOne fluttered to his hand. He ranBetween the thrones, the distaff underWhich swayed and rolled upon her knees.The chains that bound it clanked and creaked.The far-off depths the lightening streakedUprolled the deep symphonic thunderWhich rumbled like a chariot, tillIts echoes died and all was still,Save for the tinkling pipe and purlAs faster sped the seventh whorl.We nodded, laughing at the game,And said: He’s dreaming PericlesWho gave his soul to ancient Greece.What will he do with such a name?Second PhantomDo you remember?First PhantomI rememberA dream I had in early youth:My birth was humble, still I dreamedTo consecrate my life to TruthAnd for the truth to be esteemed.I love the Republic, I would seeIts soil and all its people free!
Second PhantomWho honors heaven, heaven wins.Not here your fate on earth begins.I only show you where you stoodAmid the fates and now your workOf justice and of brotherhood.You’re weary, yet you cannot shrinkThe task assumed—how it increases!A giant hand thrust in releasesThe numbered lots of mortal life,There from the apron of Lachesis,And throws them to the multitudeAwaiting mortal strife.Second ThroneOne fluttered to his hand. He ranBetween the thrones, the distaff underWhich swayed and rolled upon her knees.The chains that bound it clanked and creaked.The far-off depths the lightening streakedUprolled the deep symphonic thunderWhich rumbled like a chariot, tillIts echoes died and all was still,Save for the tinkling pipe and purlAs faster sped the seventh whorl.We nodded, laughing at the game,And said: He’s dreaming PericlesWho gave his soul to ancient Greece.What will he do with such a name?Second PhantomDo you remember?First PhantomI rememberA dream I had in early youth:My birth was humble, still I dreamedTo consecrate my life to TruthAnd for the truth to be esteemed.I love the Republic, I would seeIts soil and all its people free!
Second Phantom
Who honors heaven, heaven wins.Not here your fate on earth begins.I only show you where you stoodAmid the fates and now your workOf justice and of brotherhood.You’re weary, yet you cannot shrinkThe task assumed—how it increases!A giant hand thrust in releasesThe numbered lots of mortal life,There from the apron of Lachesis,And throws them to the multitudeAwaiting mortal strife.
Second Throne
One fluttered to his hand. He ranBetween the thrones, the distaff underWhich swayed and rolled upon her knees.The chains that bound it clanked and creaked.The far-off depths the lightening streakedUprolled the deep symphonic thunderWhich rumbled like a chariot, tillIts echoes died and all was still,Save for the tinkling pipe and purlAs faster sped the seventh whorl.We nodded, laughing at the game,And said: He’s dreaming PericlesWho gave his soul to ancient Greece.What will he do with such a name?
Second Phantom
Do you remember?
First Phantom
I rememberA dream I had in early youth:My birth was humble, still I dreamedTo consecrate my life to TruthAnd for the truth to be esteemed.I love the Republic, I would seeIts soil and all its people free!
(The Furies enter.)
The ThronesHeaven and God are under us. RevealWe never may what end the law achieves.He shall be free who with increasing zealStill labors and believes.The FuriesYou may deceive this fellow with such stuff;We have seen history woven long enoughTo know the good men plan at least by halfResults in evil.The ThronesBe the epitaphOf him who moulds his being by this thought:“He doubted, failure marked the work he wrought.”The FuriesWhat is the law, then, that he must obey?The ThronesThe law that has most universal sway.The FuriesWhat may that be? Is it to choose the good?The ThronesYou know his dream of human brotherhood.The FuriesHe must seize power such dreams to realize.In usurpation great corruption lies.First PhantomWhat is this shape I deal with? It is whole,Inseparable forever, with a soul.It is a life of undivided breath.To break its body is to give it death.The FuriesThere might be two souls where before was one.First PhantomFrom heaven’s battlements a clarionShivers the mystic chords of memory,Stretched forth from every grave and battle-field,My life may pay the forfeit—let it be.Destroy me if you will, I shall not yieldTo anarch forces.The FuriesThen by tyrannyYou’ll break the giants if they dare rebel.Men through the giants only may be free.Destroy them or enchain them and you quellThe Titan powers by whom there cameFreedom’s Promethean flame.The ThronesWhence is the Voice,Which sings the eternal themeOf giants whirledBeneath the thunderbolts of Strength supreme;Of angels who have made the fateful choice,From heaven headlong hurled?Of Odin, in Valhalla, keeping guardAgainst the malice of the giant world,Slaying the mighty Ymir?And what was their rewardWho warred upon the ThundererFor sovereignty for pity of mankind?—Go bear in pain the burden of the earth,Or under mountains blindBreathe hateful fire,Or moan your agony and fallen wrathChained to the rocks,So shall thought rule, not force, or their desireWhich is the law of music not of breadOr lower ordinance. Do you now tread,Mortal, the path of service to the race?Do you bring fire, or quell disharmony,Destroy the Titans? In all time and spaceFreedom is only for the wise and free!The ThronesA hand like lightning from a thunder cloudReaches from heaven to the apron’s folds,And takes the inscrutable lots,And scatters them among the spectral crowd.On them are written labors, wars and plots.Thus are they thrown, like snow they fall where’erThey may be driven by the unseen air,Which moves so thinly here no eye beholdsIts coming and its going. They shall fallWhere chance may govern. Look! These two shall findTheir fate and incarnation, work aboveThis meadow under earth. Not wholly blindShall they select the soul they would be like—That they may will in part—the rest shall beRuled by the working of a destinyOf our appointing when the hour shall strikeCommissioned under seal to say “AriseThe hour has struck.”First PhantomMy other self, your hand.Second PhantomWe must be one, not two.First PhantomWe must not standIn strength, intentions, visions separate.
The ThronesHeaven and God are under us. RevealWe never may what end the law achieves.He shall be free who with increasing zealStill labors and believes.The FuriesYou may deceive this fellow with such stuff;We have seen history woven long enoughTo know the good men plan at least by halfResults in evil.The ThronesBe the epitaphOf him who moulds his being by this thought:“He doubted, failure marked the work he wrought.”The FuriesWhat is the law, then, that he must obey?The ThronesThe law that has most universal sway.The FuriesWhat may that be? Is it to choose the good?The ThronesYou know his dream of human brotherhood.The FuriesHe must seize power such dreams to realize.In usurpation great corruption lies.First PhantomWhat is this shape I deal with? It is whole,Inseparable forever, with a soul.It is a life of undivided breath.To break its body is to give it death.The FuriesThere might be two souls where before was one.First PhantomFrom heaven’s battlements a clarionShivers the mystic chords of memory,Stretched forth from every grave and battle-field,My life may pay the forfeit—let it be.Destroy me if you will, I shall not yieldTo anarch forces.The FuriesThen by tyrannyYou’ll break the giants if they dare rebel.Men through the giants only may be free.Destroy them or enchain them and you quellThe Titan powers by whom there cameFreedom’s Promethean flame.The ThronesWhence is the Voice,Which sings the eternal themeOf giants whirledBeneath the thunderbolts of Strength supreme;Of angels who have made the fateful choice,From heaven headlong hurled?Of Odin, in Valhalla, keeping guardAgainst the malice of the giant world,Slaying the mighty Ymir?And what was their rewardWho warred upon the ThundererFor sovereignty for pity of mankind?—Go bear in pain the burden of the earth,Or under mountains blindBreathe hateful fire,Or moan your agony and fallen wrathChained to the rocks,So shall thought rule, not force, or their desireWhich is the law of music not of breadOr lower ordinance. Do you now tread,Mortal, the path of service to the race?Do you bring fire, or quell disharmony,Destroy the Titans? In all time and spaceFreedom is only for the wise and free!The ThronesA hand like lightning from a thunder cloudReaches from heaven to the apron’s folds,And takes the inscrutable lots,And scatters them among the spectral crowd.On them are written labors, wars and plots.Thus are they thrown, like snow they fall where’erThey may be driven by the unseen air,Which moves so thinly here no eye beholdsIts coming and its going. They shall fallWhere chance may govern. Look! These two shall findTheir fate and incarnation, work aboveThis meadow under earth. Not wholly blindShall they select the soul they would be like—That they may will in part—the rest shall beRuled by the working of a destinyOf our appointing when the hour shall strikeCommissioned under seal to say “AriseThe hour has struck.”First PhantomMy other self, your hand.Second PhantomWe must be one, not two.First PhantomWe must not standIn strength, intentions, visions separate.
The Thrones
Heaven and God are under us. RevealWe never may what end the law achieves.He shall be free who with increasing zealStill labors and believes.
The Furies
You may deceive this fellow with such stuff;We have seen history woven long enoughTo know the good men plan at least by halfResults in evil.
The Thrones
Be the epitaphOf him who moulds his being by this thought:“He doubted, failure marked the work he wrought.”
The Furies
What is the law, then, that he must obey?
The Thrones
The law that has most universal sway.
The Furies
What may that be? Is it to choose the good?
The Thrones
You know his dream of human brotherhood.
The Furies
He must seize power such dreams to realize.In usurpation great corruption lies.
First Phantom
What is this shape I deal with? It is whole,Inseparable forever, with a soul.It is a life of undivided breath.To break its body is to give it death.
The Furies
There might be two souls where before was one.
First Phantom
From heaven’s battlements a clarionShivers the mystic chords of memory,Stretched forth from every grave and battle-field,My life may pay the forfeit—let it be.Destroy me if you will, I shall not yieldTo anarch forces.
The Furies
Then by tyrannyYou’ll break the giants if they dare rebel.Men through the giants only may be free.Destroy them or enchain them and you quellThe Titan powers by whom there cameFreedom’s Promethean flame.
The Thrones
Whence is the Voice,Which sings the eternal themeOf giants whirledBeneath the thunderbolts of Strength supreme;Of angels who have made the fateful choice,From heaven headlong hurled?Of Odin, in Valhalla, keeping guardAgainst the malice of the giant world,Slaying the mighty Ymir?And what was their rewardWho warred upon the ThundererFor sovereignty for pity of mankind?—Go bear in pain the burden of the earth,Or under mountains blindBreathe hateful fire,Or moan your agony and fallen wrathChained to the rocks,So shall thought rule, not force, or their desireWhich is the law of music not of breadOr lower ordinance. Do you now tread,Mortal, the path of service to the race?Do you bring fire, or quell disharmony,Destroy the Titans? In all time and spaceFreedom is only for the wise and free!
The Thrones
A hand like lightning from a thunder cloudReaches from heaven to the apron’s folds,And takes the inscrutable lots,And scatters them among the spectral crowd.On them are written labors, wars and plots.Thus are they thrown, like snow they fall where’erThey may be driven by the unseen air,Which moves so thinly here no eye beholdsIts coming and its going. They shall fallWhere chance may govern. Look! These two shall findTheir fate and incarnation, work aboveThis meadow under earth. Not wholly blindShall they select the soul they would be like—That they may will in part—the rest shall beRuled by the working of a destinyOf our appointing when the hour shall strikeCommissioned under seal to say “AriseThe hour has struck.”
First Phantom
My other self, your hand.
Second Phantom
We must be one, not two.
First Phantom
We must not standIn strength, intentions, visions separate.
(The two phantoms become one.)
The ThronesO soul, now one which just before was two,What is your deepest love?The PhantomIt is the True.I love the Right, the Good, confederateAnd in this order, ruling, not apart:If this may be, mind, conscience, heartIn harmony and balanced equipoise,I would possess, and I would have a voiceTo sway with truth.The ThronesChoose then O soul your fate!The PhantomDown bending I obey. What have I done?First ThroneCome Destiny and over-watch your son.The DestinyBehold I loved and kept the public goodForever in my eye. At my commandWere many armies, cities, islands, realmsWhich I ruled over with a master hand.And where I could not lead by gentle wordI forced compliance, so my power withstoodInternal quarrels and the foreign sword.But when I left the life of earth they cameAround my bed, a worthy group, and spokeMy trophies and authority and fame.Not one took notice of my greatest deeds:No father’s heart for my fault ever broke,Nor wailing woman tore her widow’s weeds.Law, Freedom, Progress, Virtue, Beauty, Truth,Humility, Religion, Knowledge layAlong the pathway of my city’s youth.Ill fortune forced imperial temptationAnd these divided even by heaven sunderedLeaving to Empire and to Riches swayO’er Beauty, Knowledge, Progress, till the dayOf hatred, envy, bitter disputation,All good was sunk. Its walls and temples thundered,My city on the hill was crushed and fellThrough lust of riches, from its elevation.Study my problem and my spirit well.Yours are not greatly different—bewareGreat riches for your country lest they comeWith weakness and debasement for a snare.And to this end curb studied greed and thoseSpirits luxurious, and adventuresome,And those unjust, their hatred, guile oppose.Right is a thing ’twixt equals, and the strongDo what they can, the weak must suffer wrong.Therefore the balance hold for all, assuageThe fury and revenge which yet may rageAround your fallen brothers, when you rideTriumphant.Second ThroneNow conduct him to our sideBeneath the distaff in my hand.Thus is his fate forever ratified.
The ThronesO soul, now one which just before was two,What is your deepest love?The PhantomIt is the True.I love the Right, the Good, confederateAnd in this order, ruling, not apart:If this may be, mind, conscience, heartIn harmony and balanced equipoise,I would possess, and I would have a voiceTo sway with truth.The ThronesChoose then O soul your fate!The PhantomDown bending I obey. What have I done?First ThroneCome Destiny and over-watch your son.The DestinyBehold I loved and kept the public goodForever in my eye. At my commandWere many armies, cities, islands, realmsWhich I ruled over with a master hand.And where I could not lead by gentle wordI forced compliance, so my power withstoodInternal quarrels and the foreign sword.But when I left the life of earth they cameAround my bed, a worthy group, and spokeMy trophies and authority and fame.Not one took notice of my greatest deeds:No father’s heart for my fault ever broke,Nor wailing woman tore her widow’s weeds.Law, Freedom, Progress, Virtue, Beauty, Truth,Humility, Religion, Knowledge layAlong the pathway of my city’s youth.Ill fortune forced imperial temptationAnd these divided even by heaven sunderedLeaving to Empire and to Riches swayO’er Beauty, Knowledge, Progress, till the dayOf hatred, envy, bitter disputation,All good was sunk. Its walls and temples thundered,My city on the hill was crushed and fellThrough lust of riches, from its elevation.Study my problem and my spirit well.Yours are not greatly different—bewareGreat riches for your country lest they comeWith weakness and debasement for a snare.And to this end curb studied greed and thoseSpirits luxurious, and adventuresome,And those unjust, their hatred, guile oppose.Right is a thing ’twixt equals, and the strongDo what they can, the weak must suffer wrong.Therefore the balance hold for all, assuageThe fury and revenge which yet may rageAround your fallen brothers, when you rideTriumphant.Second ThroneNow conduct him to our sideBeneath the distaff in my hand.Thus is his fate forever ratified.
The Thrones
O soul, now one which just before was two,What is your deepest love?
The Phantom
It is the True.I love the Right, the Good, confederateAnd in this order, ruling, not apart:If this may be, mind, conscience, heartIn harmony and balanced equipoise,I would possess, and I would have a voiceTo sway with truth.
The Thrones
Choose then O soul your fate!
The Phantom
Down bending I obey. What have I done?
First Throne
Come Destiny and over-watch your son.
The Destiny
Behold I loved and kept the public goodForever in my eye. At my commandWere many armies, cities, islands, realmsWhich I ruled over with a master hand.And where I could not lead by gentle wordI forced compliance, so my power withstoodInternal quarrels and the foreign sword.But when I left the life of earth they cameAround my bed, a worthy group, and spokeMy trophies and authority and fame.Not one took notice of my greatest deeds:No father’s heart for my fault ever broke,Nor wailing woman tore her widow’s weeds.Law, Freedom, Progress, Virtue, Beauty, Truth,Humility, Religion, Knowledge layAlong the pathway of my city’s youth.Ill fortune forced imperial temptationAnd these divided even by heaven sunderedLeaving to Empire and to Riches swayO’er Beauty, Knowledge, Progress, till the dayOf hatred, envy, bitter disputation,All good was sunk. Its walls and temples thundered,My city on the hill was crushed and fellThrough lust of riches, from its elevation.Study my problem and my spirit well.Yours are not greatly different—bewareGreat riches for your country lest they comeWith weakness and debasement for a snare.And to this end curb studied greed and thoseSpirits luxurious, and adventuresome,And those unjust, their hatred, guile oppose.Right is a thing ’twixt equals, and the strongDo what they can, the weak must suffer wrong.Therefore the balance hold for all, assuageThe fury and revenge which yet may rageAround your fallen brothers, when you rideTriumphant.
Second Throne
Now conduct him to our sideBeneath the distaff in my hand.Thus is his fate forever ratified.
(The Image Passes.)
Third ThroneNow hither bring him,—thus I breathe my spell.His doom is now made irreversible.The Throne of NecessityPass under me. Now of this cup drink deep.There, he has drunk it and so falls in sleep.Now guard him, Destiny!
Third ThroneNow hither bring him,—thus I breathe my spell.His doom is now made irreversible.The Throne of NecessityPass under me. Now of this cup drink deep.There, he has drunk it and so falls in sleep.Now guard him, Destiny!
Third Throne
Now hither bring him,—thus I breathe my spell.His doom is now made irreversible.
The Throne of Necessity
Pass under me. Now of this cup drink deep.There, he has drunk it and so falls in sleep.Now guard him, Destiny!
(A sound of cannon. Lincoln awakes. The Secretary of War enters.)
The Secretary of WarFort Sumter has been fired on!LincolnCall the troops!
The Secretary of WarFort Sumter has been fired on!LincolnCall the troops!
The Secretary of War
Fort Sumter has been fired on!
Lincoln
Call the troops!
(November 23rd, 1864.)
“The will of God prevails. In great contests each party claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, and one must be wrong. God cannot be for and against the same thing at the same time. In the present Civil War it is quite possible that God’s purpose is something different from the purpose of either party; and yet the human instrumentalities, working just as they do, are of the best adoption to effect his purpose. I am almost ready to say that this is probably true; that God wills this contest, and wills that it shall not end yet. By his mere great power on the minds of the now contestants he could have either saved or destroyed the Union without a human contest. Yet the contest began. And having begun he could give the final victory to either side any day. Yet the contest proceeds.”
(New York, November 23rd, 1864.)John Wilkes Boothis speaking behind the scenes to his brother.
(New York, November 23rd, 1864.)John Wilkes Boothis speaking behind the scenes to his brother.
If you—if you had told me this before,If I had known of it—if I had known,I had not played to-night, no, by the gods,I had not played Marc Antony, nor heardYou speak the words of Brutus. You—my brother,You nursed in liberty—you nourished uponGreat thoughts and dreams, have soiled me, soiled the nameOf Booth, our father’s name. Yes, you have soiledAll spirits free, all lofty souls, the soulOf Brutus and of Shakespeare. Why, till nowConceal from me your vote for Lincoln—why?Why? In your heart of hearts you are ashamed,And loose the secret now for penitence!For you have helped the hand that wrecks and slaysWho will be king and on these ruined StatesErect a throne. He who commenced this war,And broke the law to do it. He who struckThe liberty of speech and of the press;He who tore up the ancient writ of freemen,And filled the jails against the law. Lincoln!Into whose ears the shrieks of horror riseFrom Gettysburg, Manassas—yet who saysThe will of God be done, for him you vote!And walk these boards to-night and live the soulOf Brutus, speak his words—Oh! “Had you ratherCæsar were living and die all slaves thanThat Cæsar were dead to live all freemen.” God!You had this secret in your breast the while:This vote for Lincoln, and these words of BrutusBlown from the Shakespeare trumpet to our ears,Hearts, consciences, meant what to you—meant what?Words for an actor, words for a lisping girlRepeating them by rote! But why not truthFor men to live by, to be taken intoThe beings of men for living? Oh, my God—I hate you and I leave you. I shall neverLook on your face again!
If you—if you had told me this before,If I had known of it—if I had known,I had not played to-night, no, by the gods,I had not played Marc Antony, nor heardYou speak the words of Brutus. You—my brother,You nursed in liberty—you nourished uponGreat thoughts and dreams, have soiled me, soiled the nameOf Booth, our father’s name. Yes, you have soiledAll spirits free, all lofty souls, the soulOf Brutus and of Shakespeare. Why, till nowConceal from me your vote for Lincoln—why?Why? In your heart of hearts you are ashamed,And loose the secret now for penitence!For you have helped the hand that wrecks and slaysWho will be king and on these ruined StatesErect a throne. He who commenced this war,And broke the law to do it. He who struckThe liberty of speech and of the press;He who tore up the ancient writ of freemen,And filled the jails against the law. Lincoln!Into whose ears the shrieks of horror riseFrom Gettysburg, Manassas—yet who saysThe will of God be done, for him you vote!And walk these boards to-night and live the soulOf Brutus, speak his words—Oh! “Had you ratherCæsar were living and die all slaves thanThat Cæsar were dead to live all freemen.” God!You had this secret in your breast the while:This vote for Lincoln, and these words of BrutusBlown from the Shakespeare trumpet to our ears,Hearts, consciences, meant what to you—meant what?Words for an actor, words for a lisping girlRepeating them by rote! But why not truthFor men to live by, to be taken intoThe beings of men for living? Oh, my God—I hate you and I leave you. I shall neverLook on your face again!
If you—if you had told me this before,If I had known of it—if I had known,I had not played to-night, no, by the gods,I had not played Marc Antony, nor heardYou speak the words of Brutus. You—my brother,You nursed in liberty—you nourished uponGreat thoughts and dreams, have soiled me, soiled the nameOf Booth, our father’s name. Yes, you have soiledAll spirits free, all lofty souls, the soulOf Brutus and of Shakespeare. Why, till nowConceal from me your vote for Lincoln—why?Why? In your heart of hearts you are ashamed,And loose the secret now for penitence!For you have helped the hand that wrecks and slaysWho will be king and on these ruined StatesErect a throne. He who commenced this war,And broke the law to do it. He who struckThe liberty of speech and of the press;He who tore up the ancient writ of freemen,And filled the jails against the law. Lincoln!Into whose ears the shrieks of horror riseFrom Gettysburg, Manassas—yet who saysThe will of God be done, for him you vote!And walk these boards to-night and live the soulOf Brutus, speak his words—Oh! “Had you ratherCæsar were living and die all slaves thanThat Cæsar were dead to live all freemen.” God!You had this secret in your breast the while:This vote for Lincoln, and these words of BrutusBlown from the Shakespeare trumpet to our ears,Hearts, consciences, meant what to you—meant what?Words for an actor, words for a lisping girlRepeating them by rote! But why not truthFor men to live by, to be taken intoThe beings of men for living? Oh, my God—I hate you and I leave you. I shall neverLook on your face again!
(Alexander Stephenshears news.)
(Liberty Hall, April 9th, 1865.)
That’s done! And well, I’d rather not have goneTo take such news. But now I’m glad you picked me—I saw and heard him. I was ushered in,And after hems and haws, I said at last,“Lee has surrendered.”What a face he hadWhen I said that: “Lee has surrendered.” Once,When I was just a boy, I shot a sparhawk,Just tore his breast away, and did not kill him.He hopped up to a twig and perched, I peeredThrough bushes for my victim—there he wasHis breast shot all away, so I could seeHis heart a-beating—but the sparhawk’s eyesWere bright as dew, with pain! I thought of thisWhen I saw Alec Stephens, said to him,“Lee has surrendered.”There the midget satHis face as wrinkled as thin cream, as yellowAs squirrel skin—But ah, that piercing eye!As restless as my sparhawk’s, not with movingBut just with light, such pained uneasiness.So there he sat, a thin, pale, little man,Wrapped in a monstrous cloak, as wide and darkAs his own melancholy—I shed tearsFor such soul sickness, sorrow and such eyes,That breast all shot away, that heart exposedFor eyes to see it beat, those burning eyes!I stood there with my hat within my hand,Said: “Mr. Stephens, I have come to tell you,Lee has surrendered.” He just looked at meThen in a thin, cracked voice he said at once,“It had to come.” That’s all, “It had to come.”“Pray have a seat,” he added. For you seeHe’s known me for some years, I am his friend.“It had to come.” He only said that once.Then, after silence, he chirped up again:“I knew when I came back from Hampton RoadsIt soon would be. Home-coming is the thingWhen all is over in the world you’ve loved,And worked with. And this Liberty Hall is good.My sleeplessness is not so tiring here,My pain more tolerable, and as for thought,That goes on anywhere, and thought is life,And while I think, I live.”He paused a minute,I took a seat, enthralled with what he said,A sparhawk in the rain, breast torn away,His beating heart in view, his burning eyes!“But everyone will see, the North will see,Our cause was theirs, the South’s cause was the causeOf everyone both north and south. They’ll seeTheir liberties not long survive our own.There is no difference, and cannot beBetween empire, consolidation, noneBetween imperialism, centralism, none!”I saw he was disposed to talk, let fallMy hat upon the floor. There in that cloakAll huddled like a child he sat and talkedIn that thin voice. Bent over, hands on knees,I listened like a man bewitched.He said:“As I am sick, cannot endure the strainOf practice at the bar, am face to faceWith silence after thunder, after war,This terrifying calm, and after daysTop full of problems, duties in my placeIn the South, vice-president, adviser,Upon insoluble things, now after theseI cannot sit here idle, so I planTo write a book. For, if I tell the truth,My book will live, will be a shaft of graniteWhich guns can never batter. First, perhaps,I’ll have to go to prison, let it be.The North is now a maniac—here I am,Easy to capture, but I’ll think in prison,Perhaps they’ll let me write, but anywayI’ll try to write a book and answer questions.“A soldier at Manassas shot to deathAsked, as he died, ‘What is it all about?’Thousands of boys, I fancy, asked the sameDying at Petersburg and Antietam,Cold Harbor, Gettysburg. I’ll answer them.I’ll dedicate the book to all true friendsOf Liberty wherever they may be,Especially to those with eyes to lookUpon a federation of free states as meansSurest and purest to preserve mankindAgainst the monarch principle.”Just thenA darkey came to bring him broth, he drankAnd I arose to go. He waved his handAnd asked me: “Would you like to hear aboutThe book I plan to write?”I longed to stayAnd hear him talk, but feared to tire him out.I hinted this, he smiled a little smileAnd said: “If I’m alone, I think, and thoughtWithout you talk it out is like a hopperThat is not emptied and may overflow,Or choke the grinding stones. Be seated, sir,If you would please to listen.”So I stayed.When he had drunk the broth, he settled backTo talk to me and tell me of his book,A sparhawk, as I said, with burning eyes!“First I will show the nature of the league,The compact, constitution, the republicCalled federative even by Washington.I only sketch the plan to you. Take this:States make the Declaration, therefore statesExisted at the time to make it. StatesSigned up the Articles of ConfederationIn seventeen seventy-eight, and to what end?Why for ‘perpetual union.’ Was it so?No, nine years after, states, the very sameWithdrew, seceded from ‘perpetual union’Under the Articles and acceded to,Ratified, what you will, the Constitution,And formed not a ‘perpetual union’ but`More perfect union.’“If there is a manOr ever was more gifted with the powerOf cunning words that reach the heart than Lincoln,I do not know him. Don’t you see it wins,Captures the swelling feelings to declareThe Union older than the states?—it’s false,But Lincoln says it. Here’s another strainThat moves the mob: ‘The Constitution hasNo word providing for its own destruction,The ending of the government thereunder.’This Lincoln is a sophist, and in truthWith all this moral cry against the curseOf slavery and these arguments of LincolnWe were put down, just as a hue and cryWill stifle Reason; but you can be sureReason will have her way and punishmentWill fall for her betrayal.“Let us see:‘Was there provisions in the ArticlesOf that perpetual union for the endOf that perpetual union? Not at all!How did these states then end it? By secedingTo form a better one! Is there provisionFor getting out, withdrawing from the UnionFormed by the Constitution? No! Why not?Could not states do what they had done before,Leave ‘a more perfect union,’ as they left‘Perpetual union?’ What’s a state in fact?A state’s a sovereign, look in Vattell, lookIn any great authority. So a sovereignMay take back what it delegated, mark you,Not what it deeded, parted with, but onlyDelegated. In regard to thatAll powers not delegated were reserved.Well, to resume, no word is in the charterTo end the charter. And a contract hasNo word to end it by, how do you end it?You end it by rescinding, when one partyHas broken it. Is this a contract, compact?Even the mighty Webster said it was.And further, if the Northern States, he said,Refuse to carry in effect the partRespecting restoration of fugitive slaves,The South would be no longer bound to keep—What did he say? thecompact, that’s the word!Next then, what caused the war? I’ll show and proveIt was not slavery of the blacks, but slaveryThe North would force on us. For seventy yearsFierce, bitter conflict waged between the forcesOf those who would maintain the Federal form,And those who would absorb in the Federal headAll power of government; between the forcesOf sovereignty in the people and control,And sovereignty in a central hand. Why, look,No sooner was the perfect union formedThan monarchists began to play their artsThrough tariffs, banks, assumption bills, the ActThat made the Federal Courts. And none of theseHad warrant in the charter; yet you seeThey overleaped its bounds. And so it wasTo make all clear, explicit, when we framedFor these Confederate States our charter, weForbade expressly tariffs, meant to fosterIndustrial adventures.“No, my friend,Our slavery was not the cause of war.They would have Empire and the slaveryThat comes from it: unlicensed power to dealWith fortunes, lives, economies and rights.We fought them in the Congress seventy years;We fought them at the hustings, with the ballot;And when they shouldered guns, we shouldered guns,And fought them to the last—now we have lost,And so I write my book.“What is the differenceBetween a mob, an army shouting God,Fired by a moral erethism fixedOn slaughter for the triumph of its dream,A riddance of its hate—what is the differenceBetween an army like this and a manWho dreams God moves, inspires him to an actOf foul assassination? None at all!Why, there’s your Northern army shouting God,Your pure New England with its tariff spoils,Its banks and growing wealth, uplifting hands,Invoking God against us till they flameA crazy party and a maddened army,To war upon us. But if slaveryBe sinful, where’s the word of Christ to sayThat slavery is sinful? Not a wordFrom him who scourged the Scribes and PhariseesFor robbing widows’ houses, but no wordAgainst the sin of slavery. Yet beholdHe found no faith in all of IsraelTo equal that—of whom?—a man who ownedSlaves, as we did. I mean the Centurion.And is this all? St. Paul who speaks for GodWith equal inspiration with New England,As I should judge, enjoins the slaves to countTheir masters worthy of all honor, thatGod and his doctrine be not blasphemed.“ButIf it be wrong to hold as propertyA service, even a man to keep the service—Let us be clear and fair—then is it wrongTo hold indentures of apprenticeship?And if, as Lincoln says, it is a rightGiven of God for every man to have,Eat if he will the bread he earns, then GodIs blasphemed in the North where labor’s paidNot what it earns, but what it must accept,Chained by necessity, and so enslaved.And all these tariff laws are slaveryBy which my bread is taken, all the banksThat profit by their issues, special rights,Enslave us, in the future will enslaveBoth North and South, when darkeys shall be freeTo choose their masters, but must choose, no lessTake what the master hand consents to pay,And eat what bread is given. Yes, you knowOur slavery was a gentle thing, beliedAs bloody, sullen, selfish—yet you knowIt was a gentle thing, a way to keepA race inferior in a place of work,Duly controlled. For once that race is freedIt will go forth to mingle, mix and wedWith whites and claim equality, the ballot,Places of trust and profit, judgment seats.Lincoln denies he favors this, no lessWe’ll come to that. And all the while the millsAnd factories in the North will bring to usThe helpless poor of Europe, and enslave themBy pauper wages, and enslave us allWith tariff-favored products. Slavery!God’s curse is on us for our Slavery!What do you think?“They say we broke the law,Were rebels, insurrectionists; I’ll treatThose subjects in my book. But let us see,They did not keep the law; they had their banks,They had their tariffs, they infracted lawsRespecting slaves who ran away, they joinedPosses and leagues to break those laws, and weIn virtue of these breaches, were releasedFrom this, the compact, just as Webster says.Did Lincoln keep the law and keep his oathThe Constitution to support, obey?He did not keep it, and he broke his oath.Did he have lawful power to call the troops?Did he have lawful warrant to blockadeOur southern ports? No one pretends he did.His Congress by a special act made validThese tyrant usurpations. Had he powerTo strike the habeas corpus, gag the press?—No power at all—he only seized the powerTo reach what he conceived was all supreme,The saving of the Union—more of this.Well, then, what are these words: You break the lawOn those who break it and confess they do?You have two ideas: Union and Secession,Or two republics made from one, that’s all.And those who think secession criminalTurn criminals themselves to stay the crime,And shout the Union. To this end I come,This figment called the Union, which obsessedThe brain of Lincoln.“For the point is this,You may take Truth or Liberty or UnionFor a battle cry, kill and be killed therefor,But if our reasons rule, if we are men,We take them at our peril. We must stakeOur souls upon the choice, be clear of mindThat what we cry as Truth is Truth indeed,That Liberty is Liberty, that the UnionIs not a noun, a word, a subtlety,But is a status, substance, living templeReared from the bottom up on stones of fate,Predestined. Yet the truth is only this:The Union is a noun and nothing more,And stands for what? A federative thingFormed of the wills of states, not otherwise.Existing; and to kill to save the UnionIs but the exercise of a hue and cry,An arbitrary passion, sophist’s dream.And Robespierre, who killed for liberty,And Cæsar, who destroyed the Roman libertiesTo have his way, are of the qualityOf Lincoln, whom I know. Take Robespierre,Was he not by a sense of justice moved,Pure, and as frigid as a bust of stone?And Cæsar had devoted friends, and Cæsar,The accomplished orator, general and scholar,Charming and gentle in his private walks,Destroyed the hopes of Rome.“Now, mark me friend,I do not think that Lincoln meant to crushThe institutions of his country—no,His fault was this—the Union, yes the noun,Rose to religious mysticism, and enthralledWith sentiment his soul. And his ideasOf its formation, structure in his logicRested upon a subtle solecism.And for this noun, in spite of virtues greatOf head and heart, he used his other self,His Cæsar self, his self of Robespierre,In the great office which he exercised,To bring us Oak Hill, Corinth, Fredericksburg.Think you, if when he kept the store at SalemA humble, studious man, he had been toldHe would make wails of horror, wake the criesOf pestilence and famine in the camps,Bring devastation, rapine, fire and death—Had he been told this, he had said—‘My soul!Never,’ and with Hazael said, ‘Behold,Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?’Power changes men! And when the people givePower or surrender it, they scarcely knowThe thing they give, surrender.“But I askWhat is there in the Union, what indeedIn any government’s supremacyOr maintenance that justifies these acts—These horrors, slaughters—near a million menSlaughtered for what? The Union. Treasure spentBeyond all counting for the Union. WhenNo life had been destroyed, no dollar spentIf they had let us go, left us aloneTo go our way. You see they did to usWhat England did; succeeded, where she failed.And thus you see that human life is cheap,And suffering a sequence when a dream,An Idea takes a man, a mob, an army.Which makes our life a jest, our boasted ReasonAn instrument too weak for savagery.Then for the rest—you see—I think you see.—”Sleep now was taking him. My little sparhawkWas worn out, and his eyes began to droop,His voice to fail him. In a moment thenHe sank down in his cloak and fell asleep—And I arose and left.
That’s done! And well, I’d rather not have goneTo take such news. But now I’m glad you picked me—I saw and heard him. I was ushered in,And after hems and haws, I said at last,“Lee has surrendered.”What a face he hadWhen I said that: “Lee has surrendered.” Once,When I was just a boy, I shot a sparhawk,Just tore his breast away, and did not kill him.He hopped up to a twig and perched, I peeredThrough bushes for my victim—there he wasHis breast shot all away, so I could seeHis heart a-beating—but the sparhawk’s eyesWere bright as dew, with pain! I thought of thisWhen I saw Alec Stephens, said to him,“Lee has surrendered.”There the midget satHis face as wrinkled as thin cream, as yellowAs squirrel skin—But ah, that piercing eye!As restless as my sparhawk’s, not with movingBut just with light, such pained uneasiness.So there he sat, a thin, pale, little man,Wrapped in a monstrous cloak, as wide and darkAs his own melancholy—I shed tearsFor such soul sickness, sorrow and such eyes,That breast all shot away, that heart exposedFor eyes to see it beat, those burning eyes!I stood there with my hat within my hand,Said: “Mr. Stephens, I have come to tell you,Lee has surrendered.” He just looked at meThen in a thin, cracked voice he said at once,“It had to come.” That’s all, “It had to come.”“Pray have a seat,” he added. For you seeHe’s known me for some years, I am his friend.“It had to come.” He only said that once.Then, after silence, he chirped up again:“I knew when I came back from Hampton RoadsIt soon would be. Home-coming is the thingWhen all is over in the world you’ve loved,And worked with. And this Liberty Hall is good.My sleeplessness is not so tiring here,My pain more tolerable, and as for thought,That goes on anywhere, and thought is life,And while I think, I live.”He paused a minute,I took a seat, enthralled with what he said,A sparhawk in the rain, breast torn away,His beating heart in view, his burning eyes!“But everyone will see, the North will see,Our cause was theirs, the South’s cause was the causeOf everyone both north and south. They’ll seeTheir liberties not long survive our own.There is no difference, and cannot beBetween empire, consolidation, noneBetween imperialism, centralism, none!”I saw he was disposed to talk, let fallMy hat upon the floor. There in that cloakAll huddled like a child he sat and talkedIn that thin voice. Bent over, hands on knees,I listened like a man bewitched.He said:“As I am sick, cannot endure the strainOf practice at the bar, am face to faceWith silence after thunder, after war,This terrifying calm, and after daysTop full of problems, duties in my placeIn the South, vice-president, adviser,Upon insoluble things, now after theseI cannot sit here idle, so I planTo write a book. For, if I tell the truth,My book will live, will be a shaft of graniteWhich guns can never batter. First, perhaps,I’ll have to go to prison, let it be.The North is now a maniac—here I am,Easy to capture, but I’ll think in prison,Perhaps they’ll let me write, but anywayI’ll try to write a book and answer questions.“A soldier at Manassas shot to deathAsked, as he died, ‘What is it all about?’Thousands of boys, I fancy, asked the sameDying at Petersburg and Antietam,Cold Harbor, Gettysburg. I’ll answer them.I’ll dedicate the book to all true friendsOf Liberty wherever they may be,Especially to those with eyes to lookUpon a federation of free states as meansSurest and purest to preserve mankindAgainst the monarch principle.”Just thenA darkey came to bring him broth, he drankAnd I arose to go. He waved his handAnd asked me: “Would you like to hear aboutThe book I plan to write?”I longed to stayAnd hear him talk, but feared to tire him out.I hinted this, he smiled a little smileAnd said: “If I’m alone, I think, and thoughtWithout you talk it out is like a hopperThat is not emptied and may overflow,Or choke the grinding stones. Be seated, sir,If you would please to listen.”So I stayed.When he had drunk the broth, he settled backTo talk to me and tell me of his book,A sparhawk, as I said, with burning eyes!“First I will show the nature of the league,The compact, constitution, the republicCalled federative even by Washington.I only sketch the plan to you. Take this:States make the Declaration, therefore statesExisted at the time to make it. StatesSigned up the Articles of ConfederationIn seventeen seventy-eight, and to what end?Why for ‘perpetual union.’ Was it so?No, nine years after, states, the very sameWithdrew, seceded from ‘perpetual union’Under the Articles and acceded to,Ratified, what you will, the Constitution,And formed not a ‘perpetual union’ but`More perfect union.’“If there is a manOr ever was more gifted with the powerOf cunning words that reach the heart than Lincoln,I do not know him. Don’t you see it wins,Captures the swelling feelings to declareThe Union older than the states?—it’s false,But Lincoln says it. Here’s another strainThat moves the mob: ‘The Constitution hasNo word providing for its own destruction,The ending of the government thereunder.’This Lincoln is a sophist, and in truthWith all this moral cry against the curseOf slavery and these arguments of LincolnWe were put down, just as a hue and cryWill stifle Reason; but you can be sureReason will have her way and punishmentWill fall for her betrayal.“Let us see:‘Was there provisions in the ArticlesOf that perpetual union for the endOf that perpetual union? Not at all!How did these states then end it? By secedingTo form a better one! Is there provisionFor getting out, withdrawing from the UnionFormed by the Constitution? No! Why not?Could not states do what they had done before,Leave ‘a more perfect union,’ as they left‘Perpetual union?’ What’s a state in fact?A state’s a sovereign, look in Vattell, lookIn any great authority. So a sovereignMay take back what it delegated, mark you,Not what it deeded, parted with, but onlyDelegated. In regard to thatAll powers not delegated were reserved.Well, to resume, no word is in the charterTo end the charter. And a contract hasNo word to end it by, how do you end it?You end it by rescinding, when one partyHas broken it. Is this a contract, compact?Even the mighty Webster said it was.And further, if the Northern States, he said,Refuse to carry in effect the partRespecting restoration of fugitive slaves,The South would be no longer bound to keep—What did he say? thecompact, that’s the word!Next then, what caused the war? I’ll show and proveIt was not slavery of the blacks, but slaveryThe North would force on us. For seventy yearsFierce, bitter conflict waged between the forcesOf those who would maintain the Federal form,And those who would absorb in the Federal headAll power of government; between the forcesOf sovereignty in the people and control,And sovereignty in a central hand. Why, look,No sooner was the perfect union formedThan monarchists began to play their artsThrough tariffs, banks, assumption bills, the ActThat made the Federal Courts. And none of theseHad warrant in the charter; yet you seeThey overleaped its bounds. And so it wasTo make all clear, explicit, when we framedFor these Confederate States our charter, weForbade expressly tariffs, meant to fosterIndustrial adventures.“No, my friend,Our slavery was not the cause of war.They would have Empire and the slaveryThat comes from it: unlicensed power to dealWith fortunes, lives, economies and rights.We fought them in the Congress seventy years;We fought them at the hustings, with the ballot;And when they shouldered guns, we shouldered guns,And fought them to the last—now we have lost,And so I write my book.“What is the differenceBetween a mob, an army shouting God,Fired by a moral erethism fixedOn slaughter for the triumph of its dream,A riddance of its hate—what is the differenceBetween an army like this and a manWho dreams God moves, inspires him to an actOf foul assassination? None at all!Why, there’s your Northern army shouting God,Your pure New England with its tariff spoils,Its banks and growing wealth, uplifting hands,Invoking God against us till they flameA crazy party and a maddened army,To war upon us. But if slaveryBe sinful, where’s the word of Christ to sayThat slavery is sinful? Not a wordFrom him who scourged the Scribes and PhariseesFor robbing widows’ houses, but no wordAgainst the sin of slavery. Yet beholdHe found no faith in all of IsraelTo equal that—of whom?—a man who ownedSlaves, as we did. I mean the Centurion.And is this all? St. Paul who speaks for GodWith equal inspiration with New England,As I should judge, enjoins the slaves to countTheir masters worthy of all honor, thatGod and his doctrine be not blasphemed.“ButIf it be wrong to hold as propertyA service, even a man to keep the service—Let us be clear and fair—then is it wrongTo hold indentures of apprenticeship?And if, as Lincoln says, it is a rightGiven of God for every man to have,Eat if he will the bread he earns, then GodIs blasphemed in the North where labor’s paidNot what it earns, but what it must accept,Chained by necessity, and so enslaved.And all these tariff laws are slaveryBy which my bread is taken, all the banksThat profit by their issues, special rights,Enslave us, in the future will enslaveBoth North and South, when darkeys shall be freeTo choose their masters, but must choose, no lessTake what the master hand consents to pay,And eat what bread is given. Yes, you knowOur slavery was a gentle thing, beliedAs bloody, sullen, selfish—yet you knowIt was a gentle thing, a way to keepA race inferior in a place of work,Duly controlled. For once that race is freedIt will go forth to mingle, mix and wedWith whites and claim equality, the ballot,Places of trust and profit, judgment seats.Lincoln denies he favors this, no lessWe’ll come to that. And all the while the millsAnd factories in the North will bring to usThe helpless poor of Europe, and enslave themBy pauper wages, and enslave us allWith tariff-favored products. Slavery!God’s curse is on us for our Slavery!What do you think?“They say we broke the law,Were rebels, insurrectionists; I’ll treatThose subjects in my book. But let us see,They did not keep the law; they had their banks,They had their tariffs, they infracted lawsRespecting slaves who ran away, they joinedPosses and leagues to break those laws, and weIn virtue of these breaches, were releasedFrom this, the compact, just as Webster says.Did Lincoln keep the law and keep his oathThe Constitution to support, obey?He did not keep it, and he broke his oath.Did he have lawful power to call the troops?Did he have lawful warrant to blockadeOur southern ports? No one pretends he did.His Congress by a special act made validThese tyrant usurpations. Had he powerTo strike the habeas corpus, gag the press?—No power at all—he only seized the powerTo reach what he conceived was all supreme,The saving of the Union—more of this.Well, then, what are these words: You break the lawOn those who break it and confess they do?You have two ideas: Union and Secession,Or two republics made from one, that’s all.And those who think secession criminalTurn criminals themselves to stay the crime,And shout the Union. To this end I come,This figment called the Union, which obsessedThe brain of Lincoln.“For the point is this,You may take Truth or Liberty or UnionFor a battle cry, kill and be killed therefor,But if our reasons rule, if we are men,We take them at our peril. We must stakeOur souls upon the choice, be clear of mindThat what we cry as Truth is Truth indeed,That Liberty is Liberty, that the UnionIs not a noun, a word, a subtlety,But is a status, substance, living templeReared from the bottom up on stones of fate,Predestined. Yet the truth is only this:The Union is a noun and nothing more,And stands for what? A federative thingFormed of the wills of states, not otherwise.Existing; and to kill to save the UnionIs but the exercise of a hue and cry,An arbitrary passion, sophist’s dream.And Robespierre, who killed for liberty,And Cæsar, who destroyed the Roman libertiesTo have his way, are of the qualityOf Lincoln, whom I know. Take Robespierre,Was he not by a sense of justice moved,Pure, and as frigid as a bust of stone?And Cæsar had devoted friends, and Cæsar,The accomplished orator, general and scholar,Charming and gentle in his private walks,Destroyed the hopes of Rome.“Now, mark me friend,I do not think that Lincoln meant to crushThe institutions of his country—no,His fault was this—the Union, yes the noun,Rose to religious mysticism, and enthralledWith sentiment his soul. And his ideasOf its formation, structure in his logicRested upon a subtle solecism.And for this noun, in spite of virtues greatOf head and heart, he used his other self,His Cæsar self, his self of Robespierre,In the great office which he exercised,To bring us Oak Hill, Corinth, Fredericksburg.Think you, if when he kept the store at SalemA humble, studious man, he had been toldHe would make wails of horror, wake the criesOf pestilence and famine in the camps,Bring devastation, rapine, fire and death—Had he been told this, he had said—‘My soul!Never,’ and with Hazael said, ‘Behold,Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?’Power changes men! And when the people givePower or surrender it, they scarcely knowThe thing they give, surrender.“But I askWhat is there in the Union, what indeedIn any government’s supremacyOr maintenance that justifies these acts—These horrors, slaughters—near a million menSlaughtered for what? The Union. Treasure spentBeyond all counting for the Union. WhenNo life had been destroyed, no dollar spentIf they had let us go, left us aloneTo go our way. You see they did to usWhat England did; succeeded, where she failed.And thus you see that human life is cheap,And suffering a sequence when a dream,An Idea takes a man, a mob, an army.Which makes our life a jest, our boasted ReasonAn instrument too weak for savagery.Then for the rest—you see—I think you see.—”Sleep now was taking him. My little sparhawkWas worn out, and his eyes began to droop,His voice to fail him. In a moment thenHe sank down in his cloak and fell asleep—And I arose and left.
That’s done! And well, I’d rather not have goneTo take such news. But now I’m glad you picked me—I saw and heard him. I was ushered in,And after hems and haws, I said at last,“Lee has surrendered.”
What a face he hadWhen I said that: “Lee has surrendered.” Once,When I was just a boy, I shot a sparhawk,Just tore his breast away, and did not kill him.He hopped up to a twig and perched, I peeredThrough bushes for my victim—there he wasHis breast shot all away, so I could seeHis heart a-beating—but the sparhawk’s eyesWere bright as dew, with pain! I thought of thisWhen I saw Alec Stephens, said to him,“Lee has surrendered.”
There the midget satHis face as wrinkled as thin cream, as yellowAs squirrel skin—But ah, that piercing eye!As restless as my sparhawk’s, not with movingBut just with light, such pained uneasiness.So there he sat, a thin, pale, little man,Wrapped in a monstrous cloak, as wide and darkAs his own melancholy—I shed tearsFor such soul sickness, sorrow and such eyes,That breast all shot away, that heart exposedFor eyes to see it beat, those burning eyes!
I stood there with my hat within my hand,Said: “Mr. Stephens, I have come to tell you,Lee has surrendered.” He just looked at meThen in a thin, cracked voice he said at once,“It had to come.” That’s all, “It had to come.”“Pray have a seat,” he added. For you seeHe’s known me for some years, I am his friend.“It had to come.” He only said that once.Then, after silence, he chirped up again:“I knew when I came back from Hampton RoadsIt soon would be. Home-coming is the thingWhen all is over in the world you’ve loved,And worked with. And this Liberty Hall is good.My sleeplessness is not so tiring here,My pain more tolerable, and as for thought,That goes on anywhere, and thought is life,And while I think, I live.”
He paused a minute,I took a seat, enthralled with what he said,A sparhawk in the rain, breast torn away,His beating heart in view, his burning eyes!“But everyone will see, the North will see,Our cause was theirs, the South’s cause was the causeOf everyone both north and south. They’ll seeTheir liberties not long survive our own.There is no difference, and cannot beBetween empire, consolidation, noneBetween imperialism, centralism, none!”
I saw he was disposed to talk, let fallMy hat upon the floor. There in that cloakAll huddled like a child he sat and talkedIn that thin voice. Bent over, hands on knees,I listened like a man bewitched.
He said:“As I am sick, cannot endure the strainOf practice at the bar, am face to faceWith silence after thunder, after war,This terrifying calm, and after daysTop full of problems, duties in my placeIn the South, vice-president, adviser,Upon insoluble things, now after theseI cannot sit here idle, so I planTo write a book. For, if I tell the truth,My book will live, will be a shaft of graniteWhich guns can never batter. First, perhaps,I’ll have to go to prison, let it be.The North is now a maniac—here I am,Easy to capture, but I’ll think in prison,Perhaps they’ll let me write, but anywayI’ll try to write a book and answer questions.
“A soldier at Manassas shot to deathAsked, as he died, ‘What is it all about?’Thousands of boys, I fancy, asked the sameDying at Petersburg and Antietam,Cold Harbor, Gettysburg. I’ll answer them.I’ll dedicate the book to all true friendsOf Liberty wherever they may be,Especially to those with eyes to lookUpon a federation of free states as meansSurest and purest to preserve mankindAgainst the monarch principle.”
Just thenA darkey came to bring him broth, he drankAnd I arose to go. He waved his handAnd asked me: “Would you like to hear aboutThe book I plan to write?”
I longed to stayAnd hear him talk, but feared to tire him out.I hinted this, he smiled a little smileAnd said: “If I’m alone, I think, and thoughtWithout you talk it out is like a hopperThat is not emptied and may overflow,Or choke the grinding stones. Be seated, sir,If you would please to listen.”
So I stayed.When he had drunk the broth, he settled backTo talk to me and tell me of his book,A sparhawk, as I said, with burning eyes!“First I will show the nature of the league,The compact, constitution, the republicCalled federative even by Washington.I only sketch the plan to you. Take this:States make the Declaration, therefore statesExisted at the time to make it. StatesSigned up the Articles of ConfederationIn seventeen seventy-eight, and to what end?Why for ‘perpetual union.’ Was it so?No, nine years after, states, the very sameWithdrew, seceded from ‘perpetual union’Under the Articles and acceded to,Ratified, what you will, the Constitution,And formed not a ‘perpetual union’ but`More perfect union.’
“If there is a manOr ever was more gifted with the powerOf cunning words that reach the heart than Lincoln,I do not know him. Don’t you see it wins,Captures the swelling feelings to declareThe Union older than the states?—it’s false,But Lincoln says it. Here’s another strainThat moves the mob: ‘The Constitution hasNo word providing for its own destruction,The ending of the government thereunder.’This Lincoln is a sophist, and in truthWith all this moral cry against the curseOf slavery and these arguments of LincolnWe were put down, just as a hue and cryWill stifle Reason; but you can be sureReason will have her way and punishmentWill fall for her betrayal.
“Let us see:‘Was there provisions in the ArticlesOf that perpetual union for the endOf that perpetual union? Not at all!How did these states then end it? By secedingTo form a better one! Is there provisionFor getting out, withdrawing from the UnionFormed by the Constitution? No! Why not?Could not states do what they had done before,Leave ‘a more perfect union,’ as they left‘Perpetual union?’ What’s a state in fact?A state’s a sovereign, look in Vattell, lookIn any great authority. So a sovereignMay take back what it delegated, mark you,Not what it deeded, parted with, but onlyDelegated. In regard to thatAll powers not delegated were reserved.Well, to resume, no word is in the charterTo end the charter. And a contract hasNo word to end it by, how do you end it?You end it by rescinding, when one partyHas broken it. Is this a contract, compact?Even the mighty Webster said it was.And further, if the Northern States, he said,Refuse to carry in effect the partRespecting restoration of fugitive slaves,The South would be no longer bound to keep—What did he say? thecompact, that’s the word!Next then, what caused the war? I’ll show and proveIt was not slavery of the blacks, but slaveryThe North would force on us. For seventy yearsFierce, bitter conflict waged between the forcesOf those who would maintain the Federal form,And those who would absorb in the Federal headAll power of government; between the forcesOf sovereignty in the people and control,And sovereignty in a central hand. Why, look,No sooner was the perfect union formedThan monarchists began to play their artsThrough tariffs, banks, assumption bills, the ActThat made the Federal Courts. And none of theseHad warrant in the charter; yet you seeThey overleaped its bounds. And so it wasTo make all clear, explicit, when we framedFor these Confederate States our charter, weForbade expressly tariffs, meant to fosterIndustrial adventures.
“No, my friend,Our slavery was not the cause of war.They would have Empire and the slaveryThat comes from it: unlicensed power to dealWith fortunes, lives, economies and rights.We fought them in the Congress seventy years;We fought them at the hustings, with the ballot;And when they shouldered guns, we shouldered guns,And fought them to the last—now we have lost,And so I write my book.
“What is the differenceBetween a mob, an army shouting God,Fired by a moral erethism fixedOn slaughter for the triumph of its dream,A riddance of its hate—what is the differenceBetween an army like this and a manWho dreams God moves, inspires him to an actOf foul assassination? None at all!Why, there’s your Northern army shouting God,Your pure New England with its tariff spoils,Its banks and growing wealth, uplifting hands,Invoking God against us till they flameA crazy party and a maddened army,To war upon us. But if slaveryBe sinful, where’s the word of Christ to sayThat slavery is sinful? Not a wordFrom him who scourged the Scribes and PhariseesFor robbing widows’ houses, but no wordAgainst the sin of slavery. Yet beholdHe found no faith in all of IsraelTo equal that—of whom?—a man who ownedSlaves, as we did. I mean the Centurion.And is this all? St. Paul who speaks for GodWith equal inspiration with New England,As I should judge, enjoins the slaves to countTheir masters worthy of all honor, thatGod and his doctrine be not blasphemed.
“ButIf it be wrong to hold as propertyA service, even a man to keep the service—Let us be clear and fair—then is it wrongTo hold indentures of apprenticeship?And if, as Lincoln says, it is a rightGiven of God for every man to have,Eat if he will the bread he earns, then GodIs blasphemed in the North where labor’s paidNot what it earns, but what it must accept,Chained by necessity, and so enslaved.And all these tariff laws are slaveryBy which my bread is taken, all the banksThat profit by their issues, special rights,Enslave us, in the future will enslaveBoth North and South, when darkeys shall be freeTo choose their masters, but must choose, no lessTake what the master hand consents to pay,And eat what bread is given. Yes, you knowOur slavery was a gentle thing, beliedAs bloody, sullen, selfish—yet you knowIt was a gentle thing, a way to keepA race inferior in a place of work,Duly controlled. For once that race is freedIt will go forth to mingle, mix and wedWith whites and claim equality, the ballot,Places of trust and profit, judgment seats.Lincoln denies he favors this, no lessWe’ll come to that. And all the while the millsAnd factories in the North will bring to usThe helpless poor of Europe, and enslave themBy pauper wages, and enslave us allWith tariff-favored products. Slavery!God’s curse is on us for our Slavery!What do you think?
“They say we broke the law,Were rebels, insurrectionists; I’ll treatThose subjects in my book. But let us see,They did not keep the law; they had their banks,They had their tariffs, they infracted lawsRespecting slaves who ran away, they joinedPosses and leagues to break those laws, and weIn virtue of these breaches, were releasedFrom this, the compact, just as Webster says.Did Lincoln keep the law and keep his oathThe Constitution to support, obey?He did not keep it, and he broke his oath.Did he have lawful power to call the troops?Did he have lawful warrant to blockadeOur southern ports? No one pretends he did.His Congress by a special act made validThese tyrant usurpations. Had he powerTo strike the habeas corpus, gag the press?—No power at all—he only seized the powerTo reach what he conceived was all supreme,The saving of the Union—more of this.Well, then, what are these words: You break the lawOn those who break it and confess they do?You have two ideas: Union and Secession,Or two republics made from one, that’s all.And those who think secession criminalTurn criminals themselves to stay the crime,And shout the Union. To this end I come,This figment called the Union, which obsessedThe brain of Lincoln.
“For the point is this,You may take Truth or Liberty or UnionFor a battle cry, kill and be killed therefor,But if our reasons rule, if we are men,We take them at our peril. We must stakeOur souls upon the choice, be clear of mindThat what we cry as Truth is Truth indeed,That Liberty is Liberty, that the UnionIs not a noun, a word, a subtlety,But is a status, substance, living templeReared from the bottom up on stones of fate,Predestined. Yet the truth is only this:The Union is a noun and nothing more,And stands for what? A federative thingFormed of the wills of states, not otherwise.Existing; and to kill to save the UnionIs but the exercise of a hue and cry,An arbitrary passion, sophist’s dream.And Robespierre, who killed for liberty,And Cæsar, who destroyed the Roman libertiesTo have his way, are of the qualityOf Lincoln, whom I know. Take Robespierre,Was he not by a sense of justice moved,Pure, and as frigid as a bust of stone?And Cæsar had devoted friends, and Cæsar,The accomplished orator, general and scholar,Charming and gentle in his private walks,Destroyed the hopes of Rome.
“Now, mark me friend,I do not think that Lincoln meant to crushThe institutions of his country—no,His fault was this—the Union, yes the noun,Rose to religious mysticism, and enthralledWith sentiment his soul. And his ideasOf its formation, structure in his logicRested upon a subtle solecism.And for this noun, in spite of virtues greatOf head and heart, he used his other self,His Cæsar self, his self of Robespierre,In the great office which he exercised,To bring us Oak Hill, Corinth, Fredericksburg.Think you, if when he kept the store at SalemA humble, studious man, he had been toldHe would make wails of horror, wake the criesOf pestilence and famine in the camps,Bring devastation, rapine, fire and death—Had he been told this, he had said—‘My soul!Never,’ and with Hazael said, ‘Behold,Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?’Power changes men! And when the people givePower or surrender it, they scarcely knowThe thing they give, surrender.
“But I askWhat is there in the Union, what indeedIn any government’s supremacyOr maintenance that justifies these acts—These horrors, slaughters—near a million menSlaughtered for what? The Union. Treasure spentBeyond all counting for the Union. WhenNo life had been destroyed, no dollar spentIf they had let us go, left us aloneTo go our way. You see they did to usWhat England did; succeeded, where she failed.And thus you see that human life is cheap,And suffering a sequence when a dream,An Idea takes a man, a mob, an army.Which makes our life a jest, our boasted ReasonAn instrument too weak for savagery.Then for the rest—you see—I think you see.—”Sleep now was taking him. My little sparhawkWas worn out, and his eyes began to droop,His voice to fail him. In a moment thenHe sank down in his cloak and fell asleep—And I arose and left.