Songs of the Army of the Night Part 11

"ENGLAND."

Where'er I go in this dense East, In suns.h.i.+ne or shade, I retch at the villainous feast That England has made.

And my shame cannot understand, As scorn springs elate, How I ever loved that land That now I hate!

THE FISHERMAN.

(_Mindanao_, _Philippines_.)

In the dark waveless sea, Deep blue under deep blue, The fisher drifts by on the tide In his small pole-balanced canoe.

Above him the cloud-clapped hills Crown the dense jungly sweeps; The cocoa-nut groves hedge round The hut where the beach-wave sleeps.

Is it not better so To be as this savage is, Than to live the wage-slave's life Of hopeless agonies?

A SOUTH-SEA ISLANDER.

Aloll in the warm clear water, On her back with languorous limbs, She lies. The baby upon her b.r.e.a.s.t.s Paddles and falls and swims.

With half-closed eyes she smiles, Guarding it with her hands; And the sob swells up in my heart- In my heart that understands.

_Dear_, _in the English country_, _The hatefullest land on earth_, _The mothers are starved and the children die_, _And death is better than birth_!

NEW GUINEA "CONVERTS."

I saw them as they were born, Erect and fearless and free, Facing the sun and the wind Of the hills and the sea.

I saw them naked, superb, Like the Greeks long ago, With s.h.i.+eld and spear and arrow Ready to strike and throw.

I saw them as they were made By the Christianizing crows, Blinking, stupid, clumsy In their greasy ill-cut clothes:

I heard their gibbering cant, And they sung those hymns that smell Of poor souls besotted, degraded With the fear of "G.o.d" and "h.e.l.l."

And I thought if Jesus could see them, He who loved the freedom, the light, And loathed those who compa.s.sed heaven And earth for one proselyte,

To make him, etcetera, etcetera,- Then this sight, as on me or you, Would act on him like an emetic, And he'd have to go off and spue.

O Jesus, O man of the People, Who died to abolish all this- The pharisee rank and respectable, The scribe and the greedy priest-

O Jesus, O sacred Socialist, You would die again of shame, If you were alive and could see What things are done in your name.

A DEATH AT SEA.

(_Coral Sea_, _Australia_.)

I.

Dead in the sheep-pen he lies, Wrapped in an old brown sail.

The smiling blue sea and the skies Know not sorrow nor wail.

Dragged up out of the hold, Dead on his last way home, Worn-out, wizened, a Chinee old,- O he is safe-at home!

Brother, I stand not as these Staring upon you here.

One of earth's patient toilers at peace I see, I revere!

II.

In the warm cloudy night we go From the motionless s.h.i.+p; Our lanterns feebly glow; Our oars drop and drip.

We land on the thin pale beach, The coral isle's round us; A glade of driven sand we reach; Our burial ground's found us.

There we dig him a grave, jesting; We know not his name.

What heeds he who is resting, resting?

Would I were the same!

Come away, it is over and done!

Peace and he shall not sever, By moonlight nor light of the sun, For ever and ever!

III.

"DIRGE."

"Sleep in the pure driven sand, (No one will know) In the coral isle by the land Where the blue tides come and go.

"Alive, thou wert poor, despised; Dead, thou canst have What mightiest monarchs have prized, An eternal grave!

"Alone with the lovely isles, With the lovely deep, Where the sea-winds sing and the sunlight smiles Thou liest asleep!"

III.