Now which is wrong or right? Too glib we talk Of 'crop-eared knaves, malingnants' - prate too fast Of 'round-head rebels'. Those who bid, to-day, Defiance sullen to our haughty ranks War not for pleasure, plunder, nor the fame Sweet to a soldier. Nay, their hearts are moved By some strange sense of wrong; the when or how Perchance misunderstood, yet roused and strung Till awe-struck homage and the right divine Of kings are swept away before the blast Of mighty anger, stirring to the depths A people stern at Liberty assailed. 'The king can do no wrong!' Have I not seen Fair treaties cancelled, regal oaths recalled; The danger past that dragged from royal lips The lulling words - and then, once more the need, The promise made - and broken? Ay, until My heart grew sick, and through a cloud of doubt This thought would glimmer - 'They are just, these men, And I should stand beside them, plead their cause, And, if the bitter end at last must come, Fall with them fighting.' Then around me closed The iron bands of old tradition - rank And order, knightly vows and fealty, And, stronger yet, the love I bear my lord As fellow-man, not king. Again, I shrank From calling traitor Essex friend, or with The shifty Fairfax linking in my lot, And name. Sure, if their cause be right, The tools it needs to shape it to its ends Are chosen strangely. Yet, I dreamt last night, One came to me with starry eyes and clear, Reading the very doubts that swayed my soul, -- A goddess, belted, armed. She grasped a sword -- No slender blade, with handle gilt and gemmed, Meet for a courtier's side, - the steel she shook Was keen and stout as one might wish to hold When blows are thickly dealt, and ready hands Must guard the head. Outstretching it, she said, 'Take this, and strike for England.' Then I asked, 'Which England?' - Oh, the regal scorn that curled Her lip, as clear and cold the answer came: 'There is but one - the people's. Take and strike!' And, wavering, I reached, and then again Withdrew, and whispering the while, 'The king Can do no wrong'; and her proud face I saw Grow stern and sad, and I awoke. Ah! now The battle opens, and amid those ranks Sombre and sullen, waits, maybe, a point Meant for a foe, yet bearing to a friend A soldier's death to end a statesman's doubts. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN DISPRAISE OF THE MOON by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND by REGINALD HEBER THE LABORS OF HERCULES by MARIANNE MOORE SONNET: 9. TO THE RIVER LODON by THOMAS WARTON THE YOUNGER MONODY ON THE ASTOR HOUSE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE LOVER AND THE BIRDS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TO H. M. by FRANCIS BARNARD (20TH CENTURY) ON THE DEATH OF REV. LEVI PARSONS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |