- But your
fierce Yes and No of butting heads
Now rages to outdo a horny Past.
Shades of a wild Destroyer on the vast
Are thrown by every novel light upraised.
The world's whole round smokes ominously, amazed
And trembling as its
pregnant Aetna swells.
Combustibles on hot combustibles
Run piling, for one spark to roll in fire
The mountain-torrent of
infernal ire
And leave the track of devils where men built.
Perceptive of a doom, the sinner's guilt
Confesses in a cry for help
shrill loud,
If drops the chillness of a passing cloud,
To
conscience, reason, human love; in vain:
None save they but the souls which them contain.
No extramural God, the God within
Alone gives aid to city charged with sin.
A world that for the spur of fool and knave
Sweats in its
laboratory what shall save?
But men who ply their wits in such a school
Must pray the mercy of the knave and fool.
- Much have I
studied hard Necessity!
To know her Wisdom's mother, and that we
May deem the harshness of her later cries
In labour a sure goad to prick the wise,
If men among the
warnings which convulse
Can
gravely dread without the craven's pulse.
Long ere the rising of this age of ours,
The knave and fool were stamped as
monstrous Powers.
Of human lusts and lassitudes they spring,
And are as
lasting as the parent thing.
Yet numbering
locust hosts, bent they to drill,
They might o'ermatch and have mankind at will.
Behold such army
gathering; ours the spur,
No scattered foe to face, but Lucifer.
Not fool or knave is now the enemy
O'ershadowing men, 'tis Folly, Knavery!
A sea; nor stays that sea the bastioned beach.
Now must the brother soul alive in each
His traitorous individual devildom
Hold subject lest the grand
destruction come.
Dimly men see it menacing apace
To
overthrow,
perchanceuproot, the race.
Within, without, they are a field of tares:
Fruitfuller for them when the
contest squares,
And
whereforewarrior service they must yield,
Shines
visible as life on either field.
That is my comfort, following shock on shock,
Which sets faith quaking on their firmest rock.
Since with his weapons, all the arms of Night,
Frail men have challenged Lucifer to fight,
Have matched in
hostile ranks, enrolled, erect,
The human and Satanic intellect,
Determined for their uses to control
What forces on the earth and under roll,
Their
granite rock runs igneous; now they stand
Pledged to the heavens for safety of their land.
They cannot learn save grossly, gross that are:
Through fear they learn whose aid is good in war.
- My sister, as I read them in my glass,
Their field of tares they take for
pasture grass.
How waken them that have not any bent
Save browsing--the
concrete indifferent!
Friend Lucifer supplies them solid stuff:
They fear not for the race when full the trough.
They have much fear of giving up the ghost;
And these are of mankind the unnumbered host.
- If I could see with you, and did not faint
In
beating wing, the future I would paint.
Those massed indifferents will learn to quake:
Now
meanwhile is another mass awake,
Once denser than the grunters of the sty.
If I could see with you! Could I but fly!
- The length of days that you with them have housed,
An outcast else, approves their cause espoused.
- O true, they have a cause, and woe for us,
While still they have a cause too piteous!
Yet, happy for us when, their cause defined,
They walk no longer with a stumbler blind,
And
quicken in the
virtue of their cause,
To think me a poor mouther of old saws!
I wait the issue of a battling Age;
The toilers with your 'troughsters' now engage;
Instructing them, through their acutest sense,
How close the dangers of indifference!
Already have my people shown their worth,
More love they light, which folds the love of Earth.
That love to love of labour leads:
thence love
Of humankind--earth's
incense flung above.
- Admit some other features: Faithless, mean;
Encased in matter; vowed to Gods obscene;
Contemptuous of the impalpable, it swells
On Doubt; for pastime swallows miracles;
And if I bid it face what I observe,
Declares me hoodwinked by my optic nerve!
- Oft has your
prophet, for
reward of toil,
Seen nests of
seeming cockatrices coil:
Disowned them as the unholiest of Time,
Which were his offspring, born of flame on slime.
Nor him, their sire, have known the
filial fry:
As little as Time's earliest knew the sky.
Perchance among them shoots a lustrous flame
At intervals, in proof of whom they came.
To
strengthen our foundations is the task
Of this tough Age; not in your beams to bask,
Though, lighted by your beams, down
mining caves
The rock it blasts, the hoarded foulness braves.
My sister sees no round beyond her mood;
To hawk this Age has dressed her head in hood.
Out of the course of ancient ruts and grooves,
It moves: O much for me to say it moves!
About his AEthiop Highlands Nile is Nile,
Though not the
stream of the
paternal smile:
And where his tide of
nourishment he drives,
An Abyssinian wantonness revives.
Calm as his lotus-leaf to-day he swims;
He is the yellow crops, the rounded limbs,
The Past yet flowing, the fair time that fills;
Breath of all mouths and grist of many mills.
To-morrow,
warning none with tempest-showers,
He is the vast Insensate who devours
His golden promise over leagues of seed,
Then sits in a smooth lake upon the deed.
The races which on
barbarous force begin
Inherit
onward of their origin,
And cancelled blessings will the current length
Reveal till they know need of shaping strength.
'Tis not in men to recognize the need
Before they clash in hosts, in hosts they bleed.
Then may sharp
suffering their nature grind;
Of rabble passions grow the
chieftain Mind.
Yet mark where still broad Nile boasts thousands fed,
For tens up the safe mountains at his head.
Few would be fed, not far his course prolong,
Save for the troublous blood which makes him strong.
- That rings of truth! More do your people thrive;
Your Many are more
merrily alive
Than erewhile when I gloried in the page
Of
radiantsinger and anointed sage.
Greece was my lamp: burnt out for lack of oil;
Rome, Python Rome, prey of its
robber spoil!
All structures built upon a narrow space
Must fall, from having not your hosts for base.
O
thrice must one be you, to see them shift
Along their desert flats, here dash, there drift;
With faith, that of privations and spilt blood,
Comes Reason armed to clear or bank the flood!
And
thrice must one be you, to wait release
From duress in the swamp of their increase.
At which
oppressive scene, beyond arrest,
A darkness not with stars of heaven dressed
Philosophers behold; desponding view
Your Many nourished, starved my
brilliant few;
Then flinging heels, as charioteers the reins,
Dive down the fumy AEtna of their brains.
Belated vessels on a rising sea,
They seem: they pass!
- But not Philosophy!
- Ay, be we
faithful to ourselves: despise
Nought but the
coward in us! That way lies
The
wisdom making passage through our slough.
Am I not heard, my head to Earth shall bow;
Like her, shall wait to see, and
seeing wait.
Philosophy is Life's one match for Fate.
That photosphere of our high
fountain One,
Our spirit's Lord and Reason's fostering sun,
Philosophy, shall light us in the shade,
Warm in the frost, make Good our aim and aid.
Companioned by the sweetest, ay renewed,
Unconquerable, whose aim for aid is Good!
Advantage to the Many: that we name
God's voice; have there the surety in our aim.
This thought unto my sister do I owe,
And irony and
satire off me throw.
They crack a
childish whip, drive puny herds,
Where numbers crave their sustenance in words.
Now let the perils
thicken: clearer seen,
Your Chieftain Mind mounts over them serene.
Who never yet of scattered lamps was born
To speed a world, a marching world to warn,
But sunward from the vivid Many springs,
Counts
conquest but a step, and through
disaster sings.
THE WARNING
We have seen
mighty men ballooning high,
And in another moment bump the ground.
He falls; and in his
measurement is found
To count some inches o'er the common fry.
'Twas not enough to send him climbing sky,
Yet 'twas enough above his fellows crowned,
Had he less panted. Let his
faithful hound
Bark at detractors. He may walk or lie.
Concerns it most ourselves, who with our gas -
This little Isle's insatiable greed
For Continents--filled to inflation burst.
So do ripe nations into squalor pass,
When,
driven as herds by their old private thirst,
They scorn the brain's wild search for
virtuous light.
OUTSIDE THE CROWD
To sit on History in an easy chair,
Still rivalling the wild hordes by whom 'twas writ!
Sure, this beseems a race of laggard wit,