pUHMiiiHi '^mmmmm 7^, Glass / lip h ^A Book I M^^./ ^ By bequest or / ^^ William Lukens Shoemaker The Purple East The Purple East A Series of Sonnets on England's Desertion of Armenia BY WILLIAM WATSON CHICAGO : STONE & KIMBALL LONDON : JOHN LANE MDCCCXCVI tK^"?^ 7%^(,«> COPYRIGHT, i8q6 BV JOHN LANE Gift. ■W". L- Shoemaker 7 8 '06 Contents PAGE THE TURK IN ARMENIA I5 CRAVEN ENGLAND 1 7 THE PRICE OF PRESTIGE Ig HOW LONG ? 21 REPUDIATED RESPONSIBILITY 23 ENGLAND TO AMERICA 2$ A BIRTHDAY 2/ THE TIRED LION 29 THE BARD-IN-WAITING 3 1 LEISURED JUSTICE 33 THE PLAGUE OF APATHY 35 THE KNELL OF CHIVALRY 37 A TRIAL OF ORTHODOXY 39 "IF" 41 A HURRIED FUNERAL 43 A WONDROUS LIKENESS 45 STARVING ARMENIA 47 LAST WORD 48 5 Preface A WORD as to the origin of these Son- nets may perhaps be expedient. The first of them, "The Turk in Armenia," was published as long ago as March 2, 1895, during the Premiership of Lord Rosebery; was subsequently included in the Author's latest volume of verse; and is here reprinted with some alteration. The occcasion of the one entitled "Repudiated Responsibil ity" was a recent public utterance of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. This, and its companion pieces, with the exception of three, which now see the light for the first time, were contributed in rapid succes- sion to the Westminster Gazette, during December and January, 1895-6; several have since undergone considerable revi- sion. After the publication of the first 7 8 Preface seven there appeared a reply, from the pen of the present Poet Laureate, in the shape of three sonnets, entitled a "A Vindication of England," and addressed to ''To the Author of 'The Purple East.'" Their substance may with perfect truth and fairness be recapitulated in a few words of prose. The Poet Laureate assured me — Firstly, that whosoever in any circumstances arraigns this country for anything that she may do or leave undone, thereby covers himself with shame; secondly, that although the continued torture, rape, and massacre of a Christian people under the eyes of a Christian continent may be a lamentable thing, it is best to be patient, seeing that the patience of God Himself can never be exhausted; and thirdly, that if I were but with him in his pretty country-house, were but comfortably seated "by the yule-log's blaze," and joining with him in seasonable conviviality, the enigmas of Providence and the whole mystery of things would presently Preface 9 become transparent to me, and more es- pecially after " drinking to England," I should be enabled to understand that "she bides her hour behind the bastioned brine." To the Laureate's amiable effusion, with its conventional patriotism and its absolute penury of argument, pages 31-4 of this booklet are of the nature of a reply. Passing to less personal issues, I myself have but little hope that any mere written word can bear visible fruit, while the spiritual frost lies so hard upon the land as at this time. I am indeed loth to go so far as the great Painter who suffers my pen to be ennobled by temporary association with his pencil, and who has expressed to me his belief that ** nothing at this moment is possi- ble except a national mourning." With profound veneration for the genius that has so often transferred the poet's emotion and the mystic's vision in the splendours of colour and form, I must hope that herein at least he is wrong; that something besides lO Preface lamentation alone is even yet possible: though I, too, feel that without \\. — without penitent tears for our tragic errors as the first condition of effort — nothing that is worth the doing can be done. In the sphere of practical action, if, not- withstanding our paramount naval power, notwithstanding the moral support, and surely, in such a cause, and in eventual emergency, the material support of all the nobler elements of Anglo-Saxon civilisation throughout the world, the position of England relatively to the European imbroglio and to her own Egyptian, South African, and Ameri- can complications be really such as to render hopeless any Crusade of this Empire against that Vicegerency of Hell which is acquiesced in as the Ottoman Government, then let us do what many earnest-minded Englishmen, even among those who are no enthusiastic friends of Russia, are urging as the only possible solution of a problem that cries aloud, with the tongues of thrice a hundred Preface 1 1 thousand martyrs, to be solved. If in very truth England herself cannot move — if she must perforce sit like the victim of the wand of Comus, her nerves " Chained up in alabaster, And she a statue, or as Daphne was, Root-bound, that fled Apollo " — then let her at least abandon her selfish obstruction of those who can move and who would. And if an appeal to the national conscience is vain, let us fall back for a moment upon lower ethical considerations, and ask ourselves whether in the end it will even advantage us to have postponed the rescue of a dying people to our own alleged interests in the maintenance of a diabolical tyranny. To have been the accessory to a tremendous crime, whether before or after the fact, whether by direct complicity or by the passive connivance of non-intervention where effective intervention was possible, will not permanently aid a nation, any more than it would aid an individual to go about 1 2 Preface the business of life with that inmost self- approval which can afford to ignore the adverse judgments of the half-informed, and which is more potent than any plaudits to sustain and secretly inspire. Wanting that silent ratification, unfortified by that inward sanction, a nation must needs lose vigour and assurance. Her walk grows feverish, and her rejoicings troubled, for a shadowy accuser waylays her footsteps, and haunts the background of her feasts. William Watson. The Purple East The Turk in Armenia T T 7*HAT profits it, O England, to prevail ^ ^ In camp and mart and council, and bestrew With argosies thy oceans, and renew With tribute levied on each golden gale Thy treasuries, if thou canst hear the wail Of women martyred by the turbaned crew Whose tenderest mercy was the sword that slew, And lift no hand to wield the purging flail? We deemed of old thou held'st a charge from Him Who watches girdled by His seraphim, 15 1 6 The Turk in Armenia To smite the wronger with thy destined rod. Wait'st thou His sign? Enough, the un- answered cry Of virgin souls for vengeance, and on high The gathering blackness of the frown of God! Craven England 17 Craven England TV T EVER, O craven England, nevermore '*' ^ Prate thou of generous effort, right- eous aim ! Betrayer of a people, know thy shame Summer hath passed, and Autumn's thresh- ing floor Been winnowed ; Winter at Armenia's door Snarls like a wolf; and still the sword and flame Sleep not ; thou only sleepest ; and the same Cry unto heaven ascends as heretofore ; The guiltless perish, and no man regards; And sunk in ease, and lost to noble pride, Stirred by no clarion blowing loud and wide. 1 8 Craven England Thy sons forgot what Truth and Honour meant, And, day by day, to sit among the shards Of broken faith are miserably content. The Price of Prestige 19 The Price of Prestige "VT'OU in high places ; you that drive the -*- steeds Of empire ; you that say unto our hosts, "Go thither," and they go; and from our coasts Bid sail the squadrons, and they sail, their deeds Shaking the world : lo ! from a land that pleads For mercy where no mercy is, the ghosts Look in upon you faltering at your posts — Upbraid you parleying while a people bleeds To death. What stays the thunder in your hand ? 20 The Price of Prestige A fear for England ? Can her pillared fame Only on faith forsworn securely stand, On faith forsworn that murders babes and men ? Are such the terms of Glory's tenure ? Then Fall her accursed greatness, in God's name ! How Long? 21 How Long? T TEAPED in their ghastly graves they -*" -*- lie, the breeze Sickening o'er fields where others vainly wait For burial : and the butchers keep high state In silken palaces of perfumed ease. The panther of the desert, matched with these, Is pitiful ; beside their lust and hate. Fire and the plague-wind are compassionate, And soft the deadliest fangs of ravening seas. How long shall they be borne ? Is not the cup 22 How Long? Of crime yet full ? Doth devildom still lack Some consummating crown, that we hold back The scourge, and in Christ's borders give them room ? How long shall they be borne, O Eng- land ? Up Tempest of God, and sweep them to their doom ! Repudiated Responsibility 23 Repudiated Responsibility T HAD not thought to hear it voiced so -■- plain, Uttered so forthright, on their lips who steer This nation's course: I had not thought to hear That word re-echoed by an English thane, Guilt's maiden speech when first a man lay slain, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Yet full near It sounded, and the syllables rang clear As the immortal rhetoric of Cain. "Wherefore should we, sirs, more than they — or they — Unto these helpless reach a hand to save?" 24 Repudiated Responsibility An English thane, in this our English air, Speaking for England ? Then indeed her day Slopes to its twilight, and for Honour there Is needed but a requiem, and a grave. England to America 25 England to America O TOWERING Daughter, Titan of the West, Behind a thousand leagues of foam secure ; Thou toward whom our inmost heart is pure Of ill intent ; although thou threatenest With most unfilial hand thy mother's breast, Not for one breathing-space may Earth endure The thought of War's intolerable cure For such vague pains as vex to-day thy rest ! But if thou hast more strength than thou canst spend In tasks of Peace, and find'st her yoke too tame, 26 England to America Help us to smite the cruel, to befriend The succourless, and put the false to shame. So shall the ages laud thee, and thy name Be lovely among nations to the end. A Birthday 27 A Birthday IT is the birthday of the Prince of Peace : Full long ago He lay with steeds in stall, And universal Nature heard through all Her borders that the reign of Pan must cease. The fatness of the land, the earth's increase, Cumbers the board; the holly hangs in hall ; Somewhat of her abundance Wealth lets fall; It is the birthday of the Prince of Peace. The dead rot by the wayside; the unblest Who live, in caves and desert mountains lurk 28 A Birthday Trembling, his foldless flock, shorn of their fleece. Women in travail, babes that suck the breast. Are spared not. Famine hurries to her work, It is the birthday of the Prince of Peace. The Tired Lion 29 The Tired Lion OPEAK once again, with that great note *^ of thine, Hero withdrawn from Senates and their sound Unto thy home by Cambria's northern bound, Speak once again, and wake a world supine. Not always, not in all things, was it mine To follow where thou led'st : but who hath found Another man so shod with fire, so crowned With thunder, and so armed with wrath divine ? Lift up thy voice once more ! The nation's heart JO The Tired Lion Is cold as Anatolia's mountain snows. Oh, from these alien paths of base repose Call back thy England, ere thou too de- part — Ere, on some secret mission, thou too start With silent footsteps, whither no man knows. The Bard-in- Waiting 31 The Bard-in-Waiting 'T^REACHERY'S apologist, whose num- "*" bers rung But yesterday, remonstrant in my ear ; Thou to whom England seems a mistress dear, Insatiable of honey from thy tongue : Because I crouch not fawning slaves among, How is my service proved the less sincere ? Have not I also deemed her without peer ? Her beauty have not I too seen and sung ? But for the love I bore her lofty ways. What were to me her stumblings and her slips ? And lovely is she still, her maiden lips 32 The Bard-in-Waiting Pressed to the lips whose foam around her plays ! But on her brow's benignant star whose rays Lit them that sat in darkness, lo ! the eclipse. Leisured Justice 33 Leisured Justice "OHE bides her hour." And must I ^^ then believe That when the day of peril is o'erpast, She who was great because so oft she cast All thought of peril to the waves that heave Against her feet, shall greatly undeceive Her purblind son who dreamed she shrank aghast From Duty's signal, and shall act at last, When there is naught remaining to re- trieve ? At last! when the last altar is defiled, And there are no more maidens to de- flower — 34 Leisured Justice When the last mother folds with famished arms To her dead bosom her last butchered child- Then shall our England, throned beyond alarms, Rise in her might ! Till then, " she bides her hour." The Plague of Apathy 35 The Plague of Apathy "TV TO tears are left; we have quickly •*- ^ spent that store ! Indifference like a dewless night hath come. From wintry sea to sea the land lies numb. With palsy of the spirit stricken sore, The land lies numb from iron shore to shore. The unconcerned, they flourish: loud are some. And without shame. The multitude stand dumb. The England that we vaunted is no more. Only the witling's sneer, the worldling's smile. j6 The Plague of Apathy The weakling's tremors, fail him not who fain Would rouse to noble deed. And all the while, A homeless people, in their mortal pain, Toward one far and famous ocean isle Stretch hands of prayer, and stretch those hands in vain. The Knell of Chivalry 37 The Knell of Chivalry O VANISHED morn of crimson and of gold, youth and roselight and romance, wherein 1 read of paynim and oj^aladin, And beauty snatched ff©m ogre's dun- geoned hold ! Ever the recreant would in dust be rolled, Ever the true knight in the joust would win. Ever the scaly shape of monstrous Sin At last lie vanquished, fold on writhing fold. Was it all false, that world of princely deeds, The splendid quest, the good fight ringing clear ? 38 The Knell of Chivalry Yonder the Dragon ramps with fiery gorge, Yonder the victim faints and gasps and bleeds ; But in his merry England our St. George Sleeps a base sleep beside his idle spear. A Trial of Orthodoxy 39 A Trial of Orthodoxy 'T^HE clinging children at their mother's -*- knee Slain ; and the sire and kindred one by one Flayed or hewn piecemeal ; and things nameless done, Not to be told : while imperturbably The nations gaze, where Rhine unto the sea. Where Seine and Danube, Thames and and Tiber run, And where great armies glitter in the sun. And great kings rule, and man is boasted free ! What wonder if yon torn and naked throng Should doubt a Heaven that seems to wink and nod. 40 A Trial of Orthodoxy And having moaned at noontide, *'Lord, how long?" Should cry, "Where hidest Thou?" at evenfall At midnight, " Is he deaf and blind, our God?" And ere day dawn, "Is He indeed, at all ?" "If" 41 a If" "yEA, if ye could not, though ye would, -*• lift hand — Ye halting leaders — to abridge Hell's reign, If, for some cause ye may not yet make plain. Yearning to strike, ye stood as one may stand Who in a nightmare sees a murder planned And hurrying to its issue, and though fain To stay the knife, and fearless, must remain Madly inert, held fast by ghostly band; — If such your plight, most hapless ye of of men ! But if ye could and would not, oh, what plea, 42 " If" Think ye, shall stead you at your trial, when The thunder-cloud of witnesses shall loom. With ravished childhood on the seat of doom, At \he Assizes of Eternity ? A Hurried Funeral 43 A Hurried Funeral A LITTLE deeper, sexton. You forget, She you would bury 'neath so thin a crust Of loam, was fiery-souled, and ev'n in dust She may lie restless, she may toss and fret, Nay, she might break a seal too lightly set, And vex, unmannerly, our ease ! She must Beneath no lack of English earth lie thrust. Would we unhaunted sleep! Nay, deeper vet. Quick, friend, the cortege comes. There — that will serve ; Deep enough now ; and thou'lt need all thy nerve, 44 A Hurried Funeral If, in her coffin, at the last, amid The mourners in the customary suits, And to the scandal of these decent mutes, This corpse of England's Honour burst the lid! A Wondrous Likeness 45 A Wondrous Likeness OTILL on Life's loom, the infernal warp ^^ and weft Woven each hour ! Still, in august renown, A great realm watching, under God's great frown ! Ever the same ! The little children cleft In twain : the little tender maidens reft Of maidenhood ! And through a little town A stranger journeying, wrote this record down, "In all the place there was not one man left." O friend, the sudden lightning of whose pen Makes Horror's countenance visible afar, 46 A Wondrous Likeness And Desolation's face familiar, I think this very England of my ken Is wondrous like that little town, where are In all the streets and houses no more men. Starving Armenia 47 Starving Armenia Open your hearts, ye clothed from head to feet, Ye housed and whole who listen to the cry Of them that not yet slain and mangled lie, Only despoiled of all that made life sweet — Only left bare to snow and wind and sleet, And roofless to the inhospitable sky; Give them of your abundance, lest they die And famine make this mighty woe complete; And lest if truly, as your creed aver, A day of reckoning come, it be your lot To hear the voice of the uprisen dead: *'We were the naked whom ye covered not, The sick to whom ye did not minister. And the anhungered whom ye gave not bread." 4^ Last Word Last Word \ ND save to mourn, is there nought left -^"^ to do, Nought ye can do, O sons of England ? Yes: Ye can arise, reclaim your manliness, And flee the things that are unmakfng you. Still in your midst there dwells a remnant, who Love not an unclean Art, a Stage no less Unclean, a gibing and reviling Press, A febrile Muse, and Fiction febrile too. And they it is would pluck you from this slime Whereof the rank miasma clouds your brain Last Word 49 With sloth that slays and torpor that is crime Till ye can feel nought keenly, see nought plain. Hearken their call, and heed, while yet is time, Lest ye be lulled too deep to wake again. PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY AND SONS COMPANY, AT THE LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL. 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