Collected Works (Vol. I)

CARMEN SAECULARE 215 That sitteth upon many waters, even she That called together all her daughters upon the sea; That clad herself in crimson silk and robes of black And gave men blood instead of milk; and made a track Of lives and gold and dust and death on land and sea, She is fallen, is fallen! to me. That which I gave I take, and that she thought to build, I, even I, will break it flat: my curse ful- filled. No stone of London soon shall stand upon another, No son of her throughout the land shall know his brother, I will destroy her who is rotten: from the face Of earth shall fail the misbegotten, root and race } And the fair country unto them again I give, Whom in long exile men contemn: for they shall live.” Yea, they shall live! Amen! And I Give praise, and close mine eyes, cover my face, and laugh—and die. Her breath I take The Celtic race! “CARMEN SAECULARE.,” ‘*T prophesy, with feet upon a grave, Of death cast out, and life devouring death. Of freedom, though all manhood were one slave ; Of truth, though all the world were har; of love, That time nor hate can raze the witness of.” SWINBURNE, Zs esizas. NINE voices that raise high the eternal hymn! Nine faces that ring round the rainbow sky.! Hear me! The century’s lamp is growing dim ; Saturnian gloom descends and it must die. Fili, fill my spirit to the utter brim With fire and melody ! O nine sweet sisters! I have heard your song In blue soft waters and in stern grey seas; I listen for your voices in the throng; I languish for your deadly melodies! Yet, when I hear the sound for which I long, My soul is not at ease. There rings an iron music In my ears ; A Martial cadence, chorus of the Hours: The years of plenty, the abundant years Flee, as the halcyon from the dying flowers. The chariot of Miseries and Fears Marshals its sombre powers. Take up thy pen and write! I must obey. No shrinking at that terrible command! Their voices mingle in the feeble lay, Their fire impulses the reluctant hand. My words must prophesy the avenging day And curse my native land. How have I loved thee in thy faithiessness Beneath the rule of those unspeakable ! 4 Ifow would I shield thee from this sorceress That holds my words imprisoned in her spell : I would be silent. And the words obsess My spirit. It is well. O England! falls! None shall lament her lamentable end! Uhe Voice of Justice thunders.at her walls. She would not hear. She shall not com- prehend ! The nations keep their mocking carnivals : She hath not left a friend ! England, mighty England, The harlot that men called great Babylon, In crimson raiment and in smooth attire, The scarlet leprosy that shamed the sun, The gilded goat that plied the world for hire ;— Her days of wealth and majesty are done: Men trample her for mire ! 1 The House of Hanover.