Collected Works (Vol. I)

216 CARMEN SAECULARE The temple of their God is broken down ; Yea, Mammon’s shrine is cleansed! The house of her That ‘cowed the world with her malignant frown, And drove the Celt to exile and despair, Is battered now—God’s fire destroys the town ; London admits God’s air. They scorned the God that made them; yea, they said : ‘‘Lords of this globe, the Saxon race, are we. ‘* Europe before us lies, as men lied .; “ Britannia—ho! Britannia rules the sea!” This night thy kingdom shall be finished, Thy soul required of thee. Hail! France ! rebelled Against the alien, and the golden yoke ;! Because thy justice lives and reigns, un- quelled, Unbribed ;? because thy head above the smoke Soars, eagle! Tribulation hath not felled Thy freedom’s ancient oak ! Because thy freedom hath Therefore, this message of the Gods to thee ! ‘ What banner floats above thy bastions? The oriflamme, the golden fleur-de-lys? The eagle, or the tricolour? Thy sons Choose their own flag, contented to be free, With freemen’s orisons. The mist is gathering on the seer’s sight— I cannot see the future of thy state. Or, am I dazzled by resounding light? I know this thing—thy future shall be great ! Come war, come revolution! In their spite Thou mayst compel thy Fate. 1 The Jews. 2 The verdict of Rennes. O German Empire! Let thy sons beware, Not crowding sordid towns for lust of gold, Not all forgetful of the herdsman’s care, Not arming all men in an iron mould. Peaceful be thou: with watching and with prayer. But be not overbold. Fall, Austria! In the very day and hour That reverend head that holds thee in its awe Shall sink in peace, I see thy rotten power Break as the crumbling ice-floe in the thaw. Destruction shatters thy blood-builded tower. Death has thee in his maw. Stand, Russia! peace, Beneath the constant rule, the changing Czar. Thy many, thine inhospitable seas Shall ring thee round, a zodiac to thy star, And Frost, the rampart of thine iron ease, Laugh at the shock of war. Let thy freedom grow in Turn, Italy! The Voice is unto Thee! Return, poor wounded maiden, to thy home ! Thou hast well tried a spurious liberty : Thou art made captive; let thy fancy roam To the great Mother, deeper than the sea, And fairer than the foam. O Gateway of the admirable East! Hold fast thy Faith! Let no man take thy Crown ! Birds of Evil, feast, (Fools cried) but herald thy renewed re- nown. Mad Christians see in thee the Second Beast, But shall not shake thee down. The that were keen to