Songs of the Army of the Night Part 18

Never in one true cause, for your people's sake and the light's sake, Did you strike one honest blow, did you speak one n.o.ble word: No, but you took your place, for the sake of wrong and the night's sake, Ever with blear-eyed wealth, with the greasy respectable herd.

Not as some robber king, with a resolute minister slave to you, {110} Did you swagger with force against us to satisfy your greed: No, but you h.o.a.rded and hid what your loyal people gave to you, Golden sweat of their toil, to keep you a queen indeed!

Pure at least was your bed? pure was your Court?-We know not.

Were the white sepulchres pure? Gather men thorns of grapes?

Your sons and your blameless spouse's, certes, as Galahads show not.

Round you gather a crowd of bloated hypocrite shapes!

Never, sure, did one woman produce in such sixes and dozens Such intellectual _canaille_ as this that springs from you; Sons, daughters, grandchildren, with uncles, aunts, and cousins, Not a man or a woman among them-a wretched crew!

Madam, you have done well! You have fed all these to repletion- You have put a gilded calf beside a gilded cow, And bidden men and women behold the forms of human completion- Albert the Good, Victoria the Virtuous, for ever-and now!

But what to you were our bravest and best, man of science and poet, Struggling for Light and Truth, or the Women who would be free?

Carlyle, Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, Arnold? We know it- Tennyson slavers your hand; Argyll fawns at your knee!

Good, you were good, we say. You had no wit to be evil.

Your purity s.h.i.+nes serene over Floras mangled and dead.

You wasted not our substance in splendour, in riot or revel- You quietly sat in the shade and grew fat on our wealth instead.

Madam, you have done well! To you, we say, has been given A wit past the wit of women, a supercomputable worth.

Of you we can say, if not "of such are the Kingdom of Heaven,"

Of such (alas for us!), of such are the Kingdom of Earth!

FAREWELL TO THE CHILDREN.

In the early summer morning I stand and watch them come, The children to the school-house; They chatter and laugh and hum.

The little boys with satchels Slung round them, and the girls Each with hers swinging in her hand; I love their sunny curls.

I love to see them playing, Romping and shouting with glee, The boys and girls together, Simple, fearless, free.

I love to see them marching In squads, in file, in line, Advancing and retreating, Tramping, keeping time.

Sometimes a little lad With a bright brave face I'll see, And a wistful yearning wonder Comes stealing over me.

For once I too had a darling; I dreamed what he should do, And surely he'd have had, I thought, Just such a face as you.

And I, I dreamed to see him n.o.ble and brave and strong, Loving the light, the lovely, Hating the dark, the wrong,-

Loving the poor, the People, Ready to smile and give Blood and brain to their service, For them to die or live!

No matter, O little darlings!

Little boys, you shall be My citizens for faithful labour, My soldiers for victory!

Little girls, I charge you Be n.o.ble sweethearts, wives, Mothers-comrades the sweetest, Fountains of happy lives!

Farewell, O little darlings!

Far away,-with strangers, too- He sleeps, the little darling, I dreamed to see like you.

And I, O little darlings, I have many miles to go, And where I too may stop and sleep, And when, I do not know.

But I charge you to remember The love, the trust I had, That you'd be n.o.ble, fearless, free, And make your country glad!

That you should toil together, Face whatever yet shall be, My citizens for faithful labour, My soldiers for victory!

I charge you to remember; I bless you with my hand, And I know the hour is coming When you shall understand:

When you shall understand too, Why, as I said farewell, Although my lips were smiling, The s.h.i.+ning tears down fell.

EPODE.

"_On the Ranges_, _Queensland_."

Beyond the night, down o'er the labouring East, I see light's harbinger of dawn released: Upon the false gleam of the ante-dawn, Lo, the fair heaven of day-pursuing morn!

Beyond the lampless sleep and peris.h.i.+ng death That hold my heart, I feel my new life's breath, I see the face my spirit-shape shall have When this frail clay and dust have fled the grave.

_Beyond the night_, _the death of doubt_, _defeat_, _Rise dawn and morn_, _and life with light doth meet_, _For the great Cause_, _too_,-_sure as the sun yon ray_ _Shoots up to strike the threatening clouds and say_; "_I come_, _and with me comes the victorious Day_!"

When I was young, the muse I wors.h.i.+pped took me, Fearless, a lonely heart, to look on men.

"'Tis yours," said she, "to paint this show of them Even as they are!" Then smiling she forsook me.

Wherefore with pa.s.sionate patience I withdrew, With eyes from which all loves, hates, hopes, and fears, Joys aureole, and the blinding sheen of tears, Were purged away. And what I saw I drew.

Then, as I worked remote, serene, alone, A child-girl came to me and touched my cheek, And lo her lips were pale, her limbs were weak, Her eyes had thirst's desire and hunger's moan.

She said: "I am the soul of this sad day Where thousands toil and suffer hideous Crime, Where units rob and mock the empty time With revel and rank prayer and deaths display!"

I said: "O child, how shall I leave my songs, My songs and tales, the warp and subtle woof Of this great work and web, in your behoof To strive and pa.s.sionately sing of wrongs?

"Child, is it nothing that I here fulfil My heart and soul? that I may look and see Where Homer bends and Shakspere smiles on me, And Goethe praises the unswerving will?"

She hung her head, and straight, without a word, Pa.s.sed from me. And I raised my conscious face To where, in beauteous power in her place, She stood, the muse, my muse, and watched and heard.

Her proud and marble brow was faintly flushed; Upon her flawless lips, and in her eyes A mild light flickered as the young sunrise, Glad, sacred, terrible, serene and hushed.

Then I cried out, and rose with pure wrath wild, Desperate with hatred of Fate's slavery And this cold cruel demon. With that cry, I left her, and sought out the piteous child.

"_Darling_, _'tis nothing that I shed and weep_ _These tears of fire that wither all the heart_, _These b.l.o.o.d.y sweats that drain and sear and smart_, _I love you_, _and you'll kiss me when I sleep_!"

THE END.