POETRY.
BEGABTERED Earl, whose name shall live
For England never to forgive, When the clear voice of truer men
Calls Peace and Honour back again,—
Spirits, that at thine insult flee, And shrink in fear from us and thee ; Not squandered treasure,. wasted blood, Not Evil worshipped for thy Good, Not thine ennobled forehead, set With that uneasy coronet, Not all the cries thy jugglers raise,
Who vault and tumble in thy praise—
While, from the lands where stalks to day The fiend they raised, but cannot lay, In Iowans to thy name combine
Proconsuls worthy to be thine—
Not mocking Fame, at thy behest, Can lull thy Conscience into rest, Nor all the whirr of Fortune's wheels Scatter the "hair about the heels."
Hearest thou not, man, Heavenward borne, The gathering wrath, the muttered scorn P Know'st not how loud the shout can be, Made of the whispers of the free P Too late, my Lord, for England's school, Thy lessons of Imperial rule !
Not long can stage-fires blind again The watchful eyes of Englishmen, Sons of the souls who fearless trod In their unswerving trust in God; Who sheathed the steel, save but to fight In the grand cause of Truth and Right, And will not stoop to wield it long At beck of Robbery and Wrong.
Are we to stain those silver swords, To seat thee higher in the Lords ?
To crown thee with a favourite's grace, Self-pampered in thy pride of place ?
And all our country's glories bow, For such a Minister as thou P H. C. M.
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