Boer War Lyrics — Reading Companion

Have had a six foot some of Christian ground.

Or, grant, this stories not, by far, Quite twists, the way his craving came; That a wider mark went roves with Fame: E'en so--the fatuous head he gave his star Balked still true rise, yon warier climb, Which must match foot with patient Time.

But, take in both; let honor owe Some voice to each; yet some base touch no merit downs, Sinks born kings to range with clowns, Wreaked here its curse thro' human law, And, deriving whence no issue sleep, Would have had yon stern verdict keep.

Since, so had no lure that Mammon piles Blazed wide to men, "I know ye all; Lo, here my truck, lo, there your soul! And, what devil doubts, but damned files For lasting count, scores twice this creed: "Fair ends must bear what foul means breed."

So had ne'er cried out 'gainst fearsome spilth No brave mens' blood, no blasted home Made sick the times, sensed fierce the stars, past where they dome Shrilled wildly forth "this is the husbandry whose tilth, When gathered full its ghastly sheaf, Shall blight with shame each laureled leaf,

"That England wears, where ranker grow,"-- Well--this topped, I thought, all patient sense, And it seemed I said "Now pray you whence This dire bode? What glass be yours that it should show What veils all view,"--here, while my lip still quivering hung, Their wizard spell had tied my tongue;

As from out my Dream there rose once more, This time that other's grim, now boding voice I thought so sleek, yet full of poise, And, tho' still you traced the snap it bore, 'T had now an eager, vast, nay, solemn sound, As if chiming with the sky-paths 'round.

Withal, it was mine ancient friend's, the Trap, As lo, he dire spoke, "and had I been there, Where southward down the Capelands bear, Had I not quenched with my good cap, O'er-topped his crest, that Milner man, Whose swell of head to the Imperial plan

"Such havoc worked, that toiling Day Nor patient Night, tho' joining chore, Retrieves the base that rose before; But as sad Fates their grim plots lay, Nor scorn no aid from scheming Breath, Shall, waning, sink t'ward leveling Death."

At this--as from its curb had once more broke The Will--my safer self--tho' cowed and pent Within their witching grip, I roused and bent The tongue to hot retort, and spoke: "Who're you, that spurs so fierce the instant Right, Who'ld wage conclusions with the patient Light?"

Then more calm--for within his look There sate a gleam, that still, clear gaze, By which dim Destiny all opposite weighs, Nay, her least owing brings to book-- I faltered forth: "What? him they've frilled a lord? You'ld from your great good heart have spared a cord?"

"Knit closer up this raveled night? Or bee'st thou then?"--Here fell again, past pen to tell, On tongue and will that gruesome spell, Tho' heart and brain seemed steeped in light; As in voice, whose vast no star-deep girds, 'Rose grim, I thought, that eerie Thirds;'

Now halting, meek, no more. O, futile trope! To suit to trick of verbal range What boundless garbs past millioned change, Yet here, in humble guise of him, the Rope, Spoke valiant out, tho' slept each sense-watch there, Unvoicing very thunder by compare:

"And had I been where across the sea, Confederate, girt, with bulwark tides, Fair Albion, on proud leave, divides, With Ocean's state, his empery; On his white bastion fearless stands, While lift with light the beaconed hands;

But out of mark, unstatured, sinks, All tribute once, now scarce a heed, Some trick, at best, sad memories breed, When the large well, whence Honor drinks, He fierce pollutes, the loath cup drains, Inglorious pledged to siren gains;

When the large glow, which constant shone, Now winnows Night no never more, Blasphemes its trust, the spacious charge it missioned bore, And all his anchored pride be overthrown, While up from heaving seas comes brooding cast, To moan of threnody, his vanished past.

Ah! had I been there, ere hawks could trail, Could, hounding, snatch at brooding Peace; Ere her wild brother's bugle shook the seas: Had I not ta'en a reef in Joseph's sail-- The Crest and Swell, which false at source, Pluck whelm and blast to path their course;

Ere broke the storm, yon blood-red tide, Man's will, 'gainst very Fate is bound To probe and check, but which he, callous, failed to sound: Had I not made his tacks go wide, Charmed lasting 'round with my good noose The brazen throat that poohed the truce,