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Here are the needles. See that he dies
What is the question he asks with his eyes?—
ET DONA FERENTES
IN EXTENDED observation of the ways and works of man, From the Four-mile Radius roughly to the Plains of Hindustan:
I have drunk with mixed assemblies, seen the racial ruction rise,
And the men of half Creation damning half Creation's eyes.
I have watched them in their tantrums, all that pentecostal
French, Italian, Arab, Spaniard, Dutch and Greek, and Russ and Jew,
Celt and savage, buff and ochre, cream and yellow, mauve and white;
But it never really mattered till the English grew polite;
Till the men with polished toppers, till the men in long frock
Till the men who do not duel, till the men who war with votes, Till the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Lawrence took
Began to "beg your pardon" and—the knowing croupier
Then the bandsmen with their fiddles, and the girls that bring the beer,
Felt the psychologic moment, left the lit casino clear;
But the uninstructed alien, from the Teuton to the Gaul, Was entrapped, once more, my country, by that suave, decep tive drawl.
As it was in ancient Suez or 'neath wilder, milder skies,
"Keep your temper. Never answer (that was why they spat and swore).
Don't hit first, but move together (there's no hurry) to the door.
Back to back, and facing outward while the linguist tells 'em how
"Nous sommes allong ah notre batteau, nous ne voulong pas
So the hard, pent rage ate inward, till some idiot went too
"Let 'em have it!" and they had it, and the same was merry
Fist, umbrella, cane, decanter, lamp and beer-mug, chair and
Till behind the fleeing legions rose the long, hoarse yell for
Then the oil-cloth with its numbers, like a banner fluttered
Then the grand piano cantered, on three castors, down the
White, and breathing through their nostrils, silent, systematic, swift
They removed, effaced, abolished all that man could heave or
Oh, my country, bless the training that from cot to castle
The pitfall of the stranger but the bulwark of thy sonsMeasured speech and ordered action, sluggish soul and unperturbed,
Till we wake our Island-Devil-nowise cool for being curbed!
When the heir of all the ages "has the honour to remain," When he will not hear an insult, though men make it ne'er so plain,
When his lips are schooled to meekness, when his back is bowed to blows
Well the keen aas-vogels know it-well the waiting jackal
Build on the flanks of Etna where the sullen smoke-puffs float
Or bathe in tropic waters where the lean fin dogs the boatCock the gun that is not loaded, cook the frozen dynamiteBut oh, beware my Country, when my Country grows polite!
THE HOLY WAR
("For here lay the excellent wisdom of him that built Mansoul, that the walls could never be broken down nor hurt by the most mighty adverse potentate unless the townsmen gave consent thereto."-BUNYAN'S Holy War.)
A TINKER out of Bedford,
A vagrant oft in quod,
A private under Fairfax,
Two hundred years and thirty
He mapped for those who follow,
All enemy divisions,
Recruits of every class,
The crimes that we call new,
Likewise the Lords of Looseness
And Present-Comfort shirks,
Who crack beneath a strainJohn Bunyan met that helpful set In Charles the Second's reign.
Emmanuel's vanguard dying
To the State-kept Stockholmites,
The Pope, the swithering Neutrals,
Their rôles, their goals, their naked souls—
Now he hath left his quarters,
One watchword through our Armies,
One answer from our Lands:
"No dealings with Diabolus
As long as Mansoul stands!"
A pedlar from a hovel,
BROKE to every known mischance, lifted over all
Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil;