The Unknown Eros | Page 7

homes unloosen'd of home's bond,
And fill'd with helpless babes and
harmless women fond?
Let those whose pleasant chance
Took them,
like me, among the German towns,
After the war that pluck'd the
fangs from France,
With me pronounce
Whether the frequent black,
which then array'd
Child, wife, and maid,
Did most to magnify the
sombreness of grief,
Or add the beauty of a staid relief
And
freshening foil
To cheerful-hearted Honour's ready smile!
Beneath the heroic sun
Is there then none
Whose sinewy wings by
choice do fly
In the fine mountain-air of public obloquy,
To tell the
sleepy mongers of false ease
That war's the ordained way of all alive,

And therein with goodwill to dare and thrive
Is profit and heart's
peace?
But in his heart the fool now saith:

'The thoughts of Heaven were past
all finding out,
Indeed, if it should rain
Intolerable woes upon our
Land again,
After so long a drought!'
'Will a kind Providence our vessel whelm,
With such a pious Pilot at
the helm?'

'Or let the throats be cut of pretty sheep
That care for nought but
pasture rich and deep?'
'Were 't Evangelical of God to deal so foul a blow
At people who hate
Turks and Papists so?'
'What, make or keep
A tax for ship and gun,
When 'tis full three to
one
Yon bully but intends
To beat our friends?'
'Let's put aside
Our costly pride.
Our appetite's not gone
Because
we've learn'd to doff
Our caps, where we were used to keep them on.'
'If times get worse,
We've money in our purse,
And Patriots that
know how, let who will scoff,
To buy our perils off.
Yea, blessed in
our midst
Art thou who lately didst,
So cheap,
The old bargain of
the Saxon with the Dane.' {35}
Thus in his heart the fool now saith;
And, lo, our trusted leaders trust
fool's luck,
Which, like the whale's 'mazed chine,
When they
thereon were mulling of their wine,
Will some day duck.
Remnant of Honour, brooding in the dark
Over your bitter cark,

Staring, as Rispah stared, astonied seven days,
Upon the corpses of so
many sons,
Who loved her once,
Dead in the dim and lion-haunted
ways,
Who could have dreamt
That times should come like these!

Prophets, indeed, taught lies when we were young,
And people
loved to have it so;
For they teach well who teach their scholars'
tongue!
But that the foolish both should gaze,
With feeble,
fascinated face,
Upon the wan crest of the coming woe,
The billow
of earthquake underneath the seas,
And sit at ease,
Or stand agape,

Without so much as stepping back to 'scape,
Mumbling, 'Perchance
we perish if we stay:

'Tis certain wear of shoes to stir away!'
Who
could have dreamt
That times should come like these!
Remnant of
Honour, tongue-tied with contempt,
Consider; you are strong yet, if

you please.
A hundred just men up, and arm'd but with a frown,

May hoot a hundred thousand false loons down,
Or drive them any
way like geese.
But to sit silent now is to suborn
The common
villainy you scorn.
In the dark hour
When phrases are in power,

And nought's to choose between
The thing which is not and which is
not seen,
One fool, with lusty lungs,
Does what a hundred wise,
who hate and hold their tongues,
Shall ne'er undo.
In such an hour,

When eager hands are fetter'd and too few,
And hearts alone have
leave to bleed,
Speak; for a good word then is a good deed.
XVI. A FAREWELL.
With all my will, but much against my heart,
We two now part.
My
Very Dear,
Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear.
It needs no art,

With faint, averted feet
And many a tear,
In our opposed paths to
persevere.
Go thou to East, I West.
We will not say
There's any
hope, it is so far away.
But, O, my Best,
When the one darling of
our widowhead,
The nursling Grief,
Is dead,
And no dews blur
our eyes
To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies,
Perchance
we may,
Where now this night is day,
And even through faith of
still averted feet,
Making full circle of our banishment,
Amazed
meet;
The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet
Seasoning the
termless feast of our content
With tears of recognition never dry.
XVII. 1880-85.
Stand by,

Ye Wise, by whom Heav'n rules!
Your kingly hands suit
not the hangman's tools.
When God has doom'd a glorious Past to die,

Are there no knaves and fools?
For ages yet to come your kind
shall count for nought.
Smoke of the strife of other Powers
Than
ours,
And tongues inscrutable with fury fraught
'Wilder the sky,

Till the far good which none can guess be wrought.
Stand by!
Since
tears are vain, here let us rest and laugh,
But not too loudly; for the
brave time's come,
When Best may not blaspheme the Bigger Half,


And freedom for our sort means freedom to be dumb.
Lo, how the dross and draff
Jeer up at us, and shout,
'The Day is
ours, the Night is theirs!'
And urge their rout
Where the wild dawn
of rising Tartarus flares.
Yon strives their Leader, lusting to be seen.

His leprosy's so perfect that men call him clean!
Listen the long,
sincere, and liberal bray
Of the earnest Puller at another's hay

'Gainst aught that dares to tug the other way,
Quite void of fears

With all that noise of ruin round his ears!
Yonder