Songs of the Army of the Night. Adams Francis William Lauderdale
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Название: Songs of the Army of the Night

Автор: Adams Francis William Lauderdale

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Зарубежные стихи

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СКАЧАТЬ cynical, strong —

      Are there no brigands (say),

      With the words of Christ on their lips

      And the daggers under their cloaks —

      Is there not one of these

      That you can steal on and kill?

      O as the Swiss mountaineer

      Dogged on the perilous heights

      His disciplined conqueror foes: 7

      Caught up one in his arms

      And, laughing exultantly,

      Plunged with him to the abyss:

      So let it be with you!

      An eye for an eye, and a tooth

      For a tooth, and a life for a life!

      Tell it, this hateful strong

      Contemptuous hypocrite world,

      Tell it that, if we must live

      As dogs and as worse than dogs,

      At least we can die like men!

      Tell it there is a woe

      Not for the conquered alone! 8

      An eye for an eye, and a tooth

      For a tooth, and a life for a life!

DUBLIN AT DAWN

      In the chill grey summer dawn-light

         We pass through the empty streets;

      The rattling wheels are all silent;

         No friend his fellow greets.

      Here and there, at the corners,

         A man in a great-coat stands;

      A bayonet hangs by his side, and

         A rifle is in his hands.

      This is a conquered city;

         It speaks of war not peace;

      And that’s one of the English soldiers

         The English call “police.”

      You see, at the present moment

         That noble country of mine

      Is boiling with indignation

         At the memory of a “crime.”

      In a path in the Phœnix Park where

         The children romped and ran,

      An Irish ruffian met his doom,

         And an English gentleman.

      For a hundred and over a hundred

         Years on the country side

      Men and women and children

         Have slaved and starved and died,

      That those who slaved and starved them

         Might spend their earnings then,

      And the Irish ruffians have a “good time,”

         And the English gentlemen.

      And that’s why at the present moment

         That noble country of mine

      Is boiling with indignation

         At the memory of a “crime.”

      For the Irish ruffians (they tell me),

         And it looks as if ’twere true,

      And the English gentlemen are so scarce,

         We could not spare those two!

      In the chill grey summer dawn-light

         We pass through the empty streets;

      The rattling wheels are all silent;

         No friend his fellow greets.

      Here and there, at the corners,

         A man in a great-coat stands;

      A bayonet hangs by his side, and

         A rifle is in his hands.

      This is a conquered city;

         It speaks of war not peace;

      And that’s one of the English soldiers

         The English call “police.”

THE CAGED EAGLE

      ..  I went the other day

      To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed

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      1

      In The New Arcadia Miss Robinson devoted to the Cause of Labour a dilettante little book that had not even one note of the true, the sweet and lovely poetry of her deeper impulses. There is the amateur, and the female amateur, no less in perception and emotion than in the technical aspects of our art, and we want no more flimsy “sympathetic” rigmaroles, like “The Cry of the Children,” or “A Song for the Ragged Schools of London,” from those who, in the portraiture of the divine simple woman’s soul within them, can give us poetry complete, genuine, everlasting.

      2

      His attack on George Eliot in “Fiction, Fair and Foul,” in the Nineteenth Century, for instance.

      3

      The attack on Missionary Ridge is an example of the brilliant initiative, as the holding of the Bloody Angle in the Wilderness is of the dauntless resolution, of the army of the Democracy of the United States, while the last attacks on Richmond were the final exploit of the conqueror of two combatants, of whom it is enough to say that they were worthy of one another.

      4

      Something like an adequate account of this great révolution manquée, which in England and 1381 went near to antic

1

In The New Arcadia Miss Robinson devoted to the Cause of Labour a dilettante little book that had not even one note of the true, the sweet and lovely poetry of her deeper impulses. There is the amateur, and the female amateur, no less in perception and emotion than in the technical aspects of our art, and we want no more flimsy “sympathetic” rigmaroles, like “The Cry of the Children,” or СКАЧАТЬ

<p>7</p>

The French.

<p>8</p>

“Vœ victis!” woe to the conquered – the motto of the Gauls in Rome as of the modern Civilization of Land and Capital.