Part 30 (1/2)
”Silence! Who spoke?” ”The voice of one disclosing A truth untimely.” ”With what right to speak?
Holds he the Queen's commission?” ”No, G.o.d's only.”
A hundred hands shall smite him on the cheek.
The ”truth” of Statesmen is the thing they publish, Their ”falsehood” the thing done they do not say, Their ”honour” what they win from the world's trouble, Their ”shame” the ”ay” which reasons with their ”nay.”
Alas for Liberty, alas for Egypt!
What chance was yours in this ign.o.ble strife?
Scorned and betrayed, dishonoured and rejected, What was there left you but to fight for life?
The men of honour sold you to dishonour.
The men of truth betrayed you with a kiss.
Your strategy of love too soon outplotted, What was there left you of your dreams but this?
You thought to win a world by your fair dealing, To conquer freedom with no drop of blood.
This was your crime. The world knows no such reasoning.
It neither bore with you nor understood.
Your Pharaoh with his chariots and his dancers, Him they could understand as of their kin.
He spoke in their own tongue and as their servant, And owned no virtue they could call a sin.
They took him for his pleasure and their purpose.
They fas.h.i.+oned him as clay to their own pride.
His name they made a cudgel to your hurting, His treachery a spear-point to your side.
They knew him, and they scorned him and upheld him.
They strengthened him with honours and with s.h.i.+ps.
They used him as a shadow for seditions.
They stabbed you with the lying of his lips.
Sad Egypt! Since that night of misadventure Which slew your first-born for your Pharaoh's crime, No plague like this has G.o.d decreed against you, No punishment of all foredoomed in Time.
V
I have a thing to say. Oh how to say it!
One summer morning, at the hour of prayer, And in the face of Man and Man's high Maker, The thunder of their cannon rent the air.
The flames of death were on you and destruction.
A hail of iron on your heads they poured.
You fought, you fell, you died until the sunset; And then you fled forsaken of the Lord.
I care not if you fled. What men call courage Is the least n.o.ble thing of which they boast.
Their victors always are great men of valour.
Find me the valour of the beaten host!
It may be you were cowards. Let them prove it,-- What matter? Were you women in the fight, Your courage were the greater that a moment You steeled your weakness in the cause of right.
Oh I would rather fly with the first craven Who flung his arms away in your good cause, Than head the hottest charge by England vaunted In all the record of her unjust wars.
Poor sheep! they scattered you. Poor slaves! they bowed you.
You prayed for your dear lives with your mute hands.
They answered you with laughter and with shouting, And slew you in your thousands on the sands.