Читать книгу Poems. Volume 2 - George Meredith - Страница 26

An English heart, my commandant,

A soldier’s eye you have, awake

To right and left; with looks askant

On bulwarks not of adamant,

Where white our Channel waters break.

Where Grisnez winks at Dungeness

Across the ruffled strip of salt,

You look, and like the prospect less.

On men and guns would you lay stress,

To bid the Island’s foemen halt.

While loud the Year is raising cry

At birth to know if it must bear

In history the bloody dye,

An English heart, a soldier’s eye,

For the old country first will care.

And how stands she, artillerist,

Among the vapours waxing dense,

With cannon charged?  ’Tis hist! and hist!

And now she screws a gouty fist,

And now she counts to clutch her pence.

With shudders chill as aconite,

The couchant chewer of the cud

Will start at times in pussy fright

Before the dogs, when reads her sprite

The streaks predicting streams of blood.

She thinks they may mean something; thinks

They may mean nothing: haply both.

Where darkness all her daylight drinks,

She fain would find a leader lynx,

Not too much taxing mental sloth.

Cleft like the fated house in twain,

One half is, Arm! and one, Retrench!

Gambetta’s word on dull MacMahon:

‘The cow that sees a passing train’:

So spies she Russian, German, French.

She? no, her weakness: she unbraced

Among those athletes fronting storms!

The muscles less of steel than paste,

Why, they of nature feel distaste

For flash, much more for push, of arms.

The poet sings, and well know we,

That ‘iron draws men after it.’

But towering wealth may seem the tree

Which bears the fruit Indemnity,

And draw as fast as battle’s fit,

If feeble be the hand on guard,

Alas, alas!  And nations are

Still the mad forces, though the scarred.

Should they once deem our emblem Pard

Wagger of tail for all save war;—

Mechanically screwed to flail

His flanks by Presses conjuring fear;—

A money-bag with head and tail;—

Too late may valour then avail!

As you beheld, my cannonier,

When with the staff of Benedek,

On the plateau of Königgrätz,

You saw below that wedgeing speck;

Foresaw proud Austria rammed to wreck,

Where Chlum drove deep in smoky jets.