A Channel Passage and Other Poems Part 7

He loved, and sang of love: he laughed, And bade the cup whereout he quaffed s.h.i.+ne as a planet, fore and aft, And left and right, And keen as shoots the sun's first shaft Against the night.

But love and wine were moon and sun For many a fame long since undone, And sorrow and joy have lost and won By stormy turns As many a singer's soul, if none More bright than Burns.

And sweeter far in grief or mirth Have songs as glad and sad of birth Found voice to speak of wealth or dearth In joy of life: But never song took fire from earth More strong for strife.

The daisy by his ploughshare cleft, The lips of women loved and left, The griefs and joys that weave the weft Of human time, With craftsman's cunning, keen and deft, He carved in rhyme.

But Chaucer's daisy s.h.i.+nes a star Above his ploughshare's reach to mar, And mightier vision gave Dunbar More strenuous wing To hear around all sins that are h.e.l.l dance and sing.

And when such pride and power of trust In song's high gift to arouse from dust Death, and transfigure love or l.u.s.t Through smiles or tears In golden speech that takes no rust From cankering years,

As never spake but once in one Strong star-crossed child of earth and sun, Villon, made music such as none May praise or blame, A crown of starrier flower was won Than Burns may claim.

But never, since bright earth was born In rapture of the enkindling morn, Might G.o.dlike wrath and sunlike scorn That was and is And shall be while false weeds are worn Find word like his.

Above the rude and radiant earth That heaves and glows from firth to firth In vale and mountain, bright in dearth And warm in wealth, Which gave his fiery glory birth By chance and stealth,

Above the storms of praise and blame That blur with mist his l.u.s.trous name, His thunderous laughter went and came, And lives and flies; The roar that follows on the flame When lightning dies.

Earth, and the snow-dimmed heights of air, And water winding soft and fair Through still sweet places, bright and bare, By bent and byre, Taught him what hearts within them were: But his was fire.

THE COMMONWEAL

A SONG FOR UNIONISTS

Men, whose fathers braved the world in arms against our isles in union, Men, whose brothers met rebellion face to face, Show the hearts ye have, if worthy long descent and high communion, Show the spirits, if unbroken, of your race.

What are these that howl and hiss across the strait of westward water?

What is he who floods our ears with speech in flood?

See the long tongue lick the dripping hand that smokes and reeks of slaughter!

See the man of words embrace the man of blood!

Hear the plea whereby the tonguester mocks and charms the gazing gaper-- "We are they whose works are works of love and peace; Till disunion bring forth union, what is union, sirs, but paper?

Break and rend it, then shall trust and strength increase."

Who would fear to trust a double-faced but single-hearted dreamer, Pure of purpose, clean of hand, and clear of guile?

"Life is well-nigh spent," he sighs; "you call me shuffler, trickster, schemer?

I am old--when young men yell at me, I smile."

Many a year that priceless light of life has trembled, we remember, On the platform of extinction--unextinct; Many a month has been for him the long year's last--life's calm December: Can it be that he who said so, saying so, winked?

No; the l.u.s.t of life, the thirst for work and days with work to do in, Drove and drives him down the road of splendid shame; All is well, if o'er the monument recording England's ruin Time shall read, inscribed in triumph, Gladstone's name.

Thieves and murderers, hands yet red with blood and tongues yet black with lies, Clap and clamour--"Parnell spurs his Gladstone well!"

Truth, unscared and undeluded by their praise or blame, replies-- "Is the goal of fraud and bloodshed heaven or h.e.l.l?"

Old men eloquent, who truckle to the traitors of the time, Love not office--power is no desire of theirs: What if yesterday their hearts recoiled from blood and fraud and crime?

Conscience erred--an error which to-day repairs.

Conscience only now convinces them of strange though transient error: Only now they see how fair is treason's face; See how true the falsehood, just the theft, and blameless is the terror, Which replaces just and blameless men in place.

Place and time decide the right and wrong of thought and word and action; Crime is black as h.e.l.l, till virtue gain its vote; Then--but ah, to think or say so smacks of fraud or smells of faction!-- Mercy holds the door while Murder hacks the throat.

Murder? Treason? Theft? Poor brothers who succ.u.mb to such temptations, Shall we lay on you or take on us the blame?

Reason answers, and religion echoes round to wondering nations, "Not with Ireland, but with England rests the shame."

Reason speaks through mild religion's organ, loud and long and l.u.s.ty-- Profit speaks through lips of patriots pure and true-- "English friends, whose trust we ask for, has not England found us trusty?

Not for us we seek advancement, but for you.

"Far and near the world bears witness of our wisdom, courage, honour; Egypt knows if there our fame burns bright or dim.

Let but England trust as Gordon trusted, soon shall come upon her Such deliverance as our daring brought on him.

"Far and wide the world rings record of our faith, our constant dealing, Love of country, truth to friends, contempt for foes.

Sign once more the bond of trust in us that here awaits but sealing, We will give yet more than all our record shows.

"Perfect ruin, shame eternal, everlasting degradation, Freedom bought and sold, truth bound and treason free."

Yet an hour is here for answer; now, if here be yet a nation, Answer, England, man by man from sea to sea!

_June 30, 1886._

THE QUESTION

1887

Shall England consummate the crime That binds the murderer's hand, and leaves No surety for the trust of thieves?

Time pleads against it--truth and time-- And pity frowns and grieves.

The h.o.a.ry henchman of the gang Lifts hands that never dew nor rain May cleanse from Gordon's blood again, Appealing: pity's tenderest pang Thrills his pure heart with pain.

Grand helmsman of the clamorous crew, The good grey recreant quakes and weeps To think that crime no longer creeps Safe toward its end: that murderers too May die when mercy sleeps.

While all the lives were innocent That slaughter drank, and laughed with rage, Bland virtue sighed, "A former age Taught murder: souls long discontent Can aught save blood a.s.suage?

"You blame not Russian hands that smite By fierce and secret ways the power That leaves not life one chainless hour; Have these than they less natural right To claim life's natural dower?

"The dower that freedom brings the slave She weds, is vengeance: why should we, Whom equal laws acclaim as free, Think shame, if men too blindly brave Steal, murder, skulk, and flee?

"At kings they strike in Russia: there Men take their life in hand who slay Kings: these, that have not heart to lay Hand save on girls whose ravaged hair Is made the patriot's prey,

"These, whom the sight of old men slain Makes bold to bid their children die, Starved, if they hold not peace, nor lie, Claim loftier praise: could others deign To stand in shame so high?