ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN (1841 - 1901)

{A Selection of Poems}

THE CHARTER’D COMPANIE.

I.

The Devil’s* will is the Devil’s still, whereever the Devil may be—
He used to delight in the thick of the fight, whether on land or sea;
’Twas difficult then for mortal men to know what side he took,
When the wrath of the Lord from heaven was poured and the whole creation shook;
Yet for many a day the Devil’s way was ever mighty and grand,
’Mid the swift sword’s flash and the cannon’s crash he boldly took his stand:
Such perilous work he has learn’d to shirk, and quiet at home sits he,
Having turn’d himself for the love of pelf to a Charter’d Companie!

II.

‘Ho! better far than the work of War, and the storm and stress of strife,
Is to rest at home, while others roam,’ he murmurs to Sin, his wife!
‘Tho’ the fiends my sons make Gatling guns, they’re Christians to the core,
And they love the range of the Stock Exchange far better than battle-roar.
They are spared, in truth, much strife uncouth and trouble by field and flood,
Since the work of Hell is done so well by creatures of flesh and blood;
And I think on the whole,’ says the grim old Soul, ‘’tis better for you and me
That I’ve turned myself, ere laid on the shelf, to a Charter’d Companie!

III.

‘The thin red line was doubtless fine as it crept across the plain,
While the thick fire ran from the black Redan and broke it again and again,
But the hearts of men throbb’d bravely then, and their souls could do and dare,
’Mid the thick of the fight, in my despite, God found out Heroes there!
The Flag of England waved on high, and the thin red line crept on,
And I felt, as it flashed along to die, my occupation gone!
O’er a brave man’s soul I had no control in those old days,’ said he,
‘So I’ve turned myself, ere laid on the shelf, to a Charter’d Companie!

IV.

‘The Flag of England still doth blow and flings the sunlight back,
But the line that creepeth now below is changed to a line of black!
Wherever the Flag of England blows, down go all other flags,
Wherever the line of black print goes, the British Bulldog brags!
The Newspaper, my dear, is best to further such work as mine,—
My blessing rest, north, south, east, west, on the thin black penny-a-line!
For my work is done ’neath moon or sun, by men and not by me,
Now I’ve changed myself, in the reign of the Guelph, to a Charter’d Companie!

V.

‘Of Church and of State let others prate, let martyr’d thousands moan,—
I’m responsible, I beg to state, to my shareholders alone!
The Flag of England may rot and fall, both Church and State may end,
Whate’er befall, I laugh at it all, if I pay a dividend!
But O my dear, it is very clear that the thing is working well—
When they hunt the black man down like deer, we devils rejoice in Hell!
’Tis loot, loot, loot, as they slaughter and shoot out yonder across the sea,
Now I’ve turned myself, like a gamesome elf, to a Charter’d Companie!

VI.

‘Just study, my dear, the record here, of the mighty deeds they’ve done—
Hundreds, en masse, mowed down like grass, to an English loss of one!
Then loot, loot, loot, as they slaughter and shoot, to the shrieks of the naked foe,
While murder and greed on the fallen feed, right up my stock must go!
And the best of the lark, you’ll be pleased to mark, is the counter-jumper’s cry,
As he clutches his shares and mumbles his prayers to the Jingo-God on high!
With Bible and Gun the work is done both here and across the sea,
Now I’ve turned myself, in the reign of the Guelph, to a Charter’d Companie!’

VII.

The Devil’s will is the Devil’s still, though wrought in a Christian land,
He chuckles low and laughs his fill, with the latest news in hand;
Nor God nor man can mar his plan so long as the markets thrive,
Tho’ the Flag be stained and the Creed profaned, he keepeth the game alive!
‘The Flag of England may rot and fall, both Church and State may end,
Whatever befall, I laugh at it all, if I pay a dividend!
Right glad I dwell where I make my Hell, in the white man’s heart,’ cries he,
‘Now I’ve turned myself, for the love of pelf, to a Charter’d Companie!’

*

* Not the great Æon, whom I have vindicated,
       Call’d falsely Devil by the blind and base,
   But Belial, a creature execrated
       Except in Church and in the marketplace.—R. B.

_____

MAN OF THE RED RIGHT HAND.

Man with the Red Right Hand knelt in the night and prayed:
‘Pity and spare, O God, the mortal whom thou hast made!
Strengthen the house he builds, adorn his glad roof-tree,
Blessing the bloody spoil he gathers on earth and sea!
The bird and the beast are blind, and they do not understand,
But lo! thy servant kneels!’ said Man with the Red Right Hand.

God went by in the Storm and answered never a word.
But the birds of the air shrieked loud and the beasts of the mountain heard,
And the dark sad flocks of the Sea and the Sea-lambs gentle-eyed
Wail’d from their oozy folds, and the mild Sea-kine replied,
And the pity of God fell down like darkness on sea and land,
But froze to ice in the heart of Man with the Red Right Hand.

Then up he rose from his knee and brandish’d the crimson knife,
Saying: ‘I thank thee, God, for making me Lord of Life!
The beasts and the birds are mine, and the flesh and blood of the same,
Baptised in the blood of these, I gladden and praise thy name!
Laden with spoils of life thy servant shall smiling stand!’
And out on the Deep he hied, this Man with the Red Right Hand.

Afar on the lonely isles the cry of the slaughtered herds
Rose on the morning air, to the scream of the flying birds,
And the birds fell down and bled with pitiful human cries,
And the butcher’d Lambs of the Sea lookt up with pleading eyes,
And the blood of bird and beast was red on sea and land,
And drunk with the joy of Death was Man with the Red Right Hand.

And the fur of the slain sea-lamb was a cloak for his bride to wear,
And the broken wing of the bird was set in his leman’s hair,
And the flesh of the ox and lamb were food for his brood to eat,
And the skin of the mild sea-kine was shoon on his daughter’s feet!
And the cry of the slaughtered things was loud over sea and land
As he knelt once more and prayed, upraising his Red Right Hand.

‘Pity me, Master and Lord! spare me and pass me by,
Grant me Eternal Life, though the beast and the bird must die!
Behold I worship thy Law, and gladden in all thy ways,
The bird and the beast are dumb, but behold I sing thy praise,
The bird and the beast are blind, and they do not understand,
But lo, I see and know!’ said Man with the Red Right Hand.

God went by in the Storm and answered never a word.
But deep in the soul of Man the cry of a God was heard:
‘Askest thou pity, thou, who ne’er drew pitying breath?
Askest thou fulness of life, whose life is built upon Death?
Even as thou metest to these, thy kin of the sea and land,
Shall it be meted to thee, O Man of the Red Right Hand!

‘When thou namest bird and beast, and blessest them passing by,
When thy pleasure is built no more on the pain of things that die,
When thy bride no longer wears the spoil of thy butcher’s knife,
Perchance thy prayer may reach the ears of the Lord of Life;
Meantime be slain with the things thou slayest on sea and land,—
Yea, pass in thy place like those, O Man with the Red Right Hand!’

_____

SONG OF THE FUR-SEAL.*

                   Who cometh out of the sea
                         Wrapt in His winding-sheet?
                   He who hung on the Tree
                         With blood on his hands and feet,—
On the frozen isles He leaps, and lo, the sea-lambs round him bleat!

                   The cry of the flocks o’ the Sea
                         Rings in the ears of the Man!
                   Gentle and mild is He,
                         Tho’ worn and weak and wan;
The mild-eyed seals look up in joy, his pitiful face to scan.

                   They gather round him there,
                         He blesses them one and all,—
                   On their eyes and tangled hair
                         His tears of blessing fall;—
But he starteth up and he listeneth, for he hears the hunter’s call!

                   Moaning in fear he flies
                         Leading the wild sea-herds,
                   O’er him, under the skies,
                         Follow the startled birds,—
“Father, look down!” he moans aloud, and the Heavens fling back his words!

                   The hunter’s feet are swift,
                         The feet of the Christ are slow,
                   Nearer they come who lift
                         Red hands for the butcher’s blow,—
Aye me, the bleeding lambs of the Sea, who struggle and wail in woe!

                   Blind with the lust of death
                         Are the red hunter’s eyes,
                   Around him blood like breath
                         Streams to the silent skies,—
Slain again ’mong the slain sea-lambs the white Christ moans and dies!

                   “Even as the least of these,
                         Butcher’d again, I fall!”
                   O gentle lambs of the Sea,
                         Who leapt to hear him call,
Bleeding there in your midst he lies, who gladden’d and blest you all!

                   And the hunter striding by,
                         Blind, with no heart to feel,
                   Laughs at the anguish’d cry,
                         And crushes under his heel
The head of the Christ that looketh up with the eyes of a slaughter’d seal!

*

* See, passim, the descriptions of Dr. Gordon Stables, R.N., Captain Borchgrevink, Professor Jukes, and others, of the devilries which accompany the slaughter of the Fur-Seal.

_____

‘PATRIOTISM.’

‘Throughout all this period of Titanic struggle, patriotism was the most potent factor in the contest, and ultimately decided the issue. Animated by patriotism, which gave to her armies a superhuman strength, France was able to confound all the efforts of her enemies. Then, ignoring in all other nations a love of independence and freedom as strenuous as her own, she at last created and evoked in them this all-powerful sentiment, and was in the end driven back to her frontiers by an exhibition of the same spirit as that which had enabled her to defend them. . . . The fact is, that a vague attachment to the whole human race is a poor substitute for the performance of the duties of a citizen; and professions of universal philanthropy afford no excuse for neglecting the interests of one’s own country.’—JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, in Glasgow.

I.

Judas to Caiaphas,
     The Elders, and the Priests:
‘I, heir of him who sold the Man
     Whose voice disturb’d your feasts,
My thirty pieces duly gained,
     The Cross and Sword upraise,
And claim, for triumph thus attained,
     The Patriot’s palm and bays!

II.

‘Who is the Patriot? He
     Who, swift and keen to slay,
Spieth the helpless quarry out
     For home-bred birds of prey;
Who heeds not hearts that ache and break,
     But peers from sea to sea,
And ever, for his Country’s sake,
     Points Christ to Calvary!

III.

‘The black Christs and the white,
     Lo, how they shriek and die,
While the great conquering Flag floats on
     And merry hosts go by!
I price in our imperial Mart
     Their land, their gold, their lives—
Ho, Priests, who heeds the broken heart,
     So that the Market thrives?

IV.

‘Who is the Patriot? He
     Who strideth, sword in hand,
To reap the fields he never sowed,
     For his own Fatherland!
Who, sweeping human rights aside,
     Sets up the cross-shaped Tree,
And while the Christ is crucified,
     Bids all the Thieves go free!

V.

‘This for a sign I speak—
     Heed it and understand—
Who loves his neighbour as himself
     Loves, too, his neighbour’s land!
His neighbour’s land, his wives, his gold,
     All the good thief may seize,
And he’s a Patriot twentyfold
     Who garners all of these!

VI.

‘All, for his Country’s sake,
     His God, his Lord, his Home,
Ev’n so the Roman stalk’d abroad
     And claimed the world for Rome,
Ev’n so the patriot Nations still
     In emulation toil,
Confront each other, shrieking shrill,
     And hungering for the spoil!

VII.

‘Remember how the Patriot’s fire
     Swept Europe west to east,
While on its trail devouring ran
     The many-headed Beast;
Till dawn’d at last the glorious morn
     When all the Earth was priced
By Patriotism’s latest-born,
     The Imperial Antichrist!

VIII.

‘Hark! still the Patriot’s cry
     Yonder in France is heard—
She slew her Kings, she found for men
     The blood-compelling Word:
Arm’d to the teeth still croucheth she,
     Waketh, and sleepeth not—
“Allons, enfants de la Patrie—
     To cut our neighbour’s throat!”

IX.

‘Lo, how the same grand dream
     Of God and Fatherland
Fills the brave Teuton’s warrior-soul
     And arms his mailèd hand;
Beast-like for battle he prepares,
     Bow’d down with helm and glaive,—
How proudly he, the Patriot, wears
     The livery of the Slave!’

X.

Judas to Caiaphas,
     The Elders, and the Priests:
‘I, heir of him who sold the Man
     Whose voice disturb’d your feasts,
Bid ye, my brethren of the Blood,
     March on from sea to sea,
Nor heed, ’mid Conquest’s roaring flood,
     The cries from Calvary!

XI.

‘Patriots ye were and are,
     Yours is the Patriot’s crown;
The Patriot is the strong man, he
     Who strikes the weak man down!
Onward with Cross and Sword, still race
     With all the world for prey,—
I price, in this your market-place,
     The robes of Him ye slay!’

_____

LAST NIGHT.

Last night, as in the streets of stone
I paced in silence and alone,
A pale thin youth with locks of flame
Came to me, murmuring my name.

His face was white, his eyes were wild,
He looked into my face and smiled,
He named my name, then softly said,
‘I am thine other self, long dead!’

And as he spake I felt his breath
Was chilly with the dews of Death,
But suddenly he sang, and lo!
’Twas an old song I used to know.

Ah, God! the music tore apart
The clammy cerements of my heart,
And suddenly I seemed to be
Wild, young, and wonderful as he!

And when he ceased, he laugh’d and cried,
‘Tho’ all have perished, I abide,’
Yet looking in his face I knew
’Twas glittering with churchyard dew!

I reach’d out hands and would have pressed
The gentle vision to my breast,
But from my touch, before I wist,
He sprang and vanished into mist!

‘Come back, come back!’ I cried in pain,
But ah, he would not come again!
Tearful, in silence and alone,
I paced along the streets of stone.

_____

THE LORDS OF THE BREAD.

I.

‘Lords of the Bread and the Land,
     Cruel and empty of heart,
Low at your footstool we stand,
     We who are Slaves of the Mart!
Ye have conquer’d the Earth and the Sea;
     In glory of purple and gold
Your Empire rolls onward, but we
     Stand bleeding and bare as of old;
Ye have stolen the soil of our birth,
     With the flesh of our bones ye are fed,—
Who made ye the Masters of Earth?
     Answer, ye Lords of the Bread!’

II.

And the Lords of the Bread replied:
     ‘Hush, ye vain voices, be still!
With the God of the Strong for our guide
     We have triumph’d and fatten’d our fill;
And lo! in our pride we upbuild
     These Cities that look on the foam,
And the waves of the waters are stilled
     And rock ’neath the grain-ships of Rome;
And from City to City march forth
     Our legions with conquering tread:
Ye made us the Masters of Earth,
     And the fulness thereof, and the Bread!’

III.

Then answer’d the Slaves of the Mart:
     ‘Even so! ye are great, ye are strong!
But wherefore, O cruel of heart,
     Deny us our birthright so long!
We launch’d ye these ships on the waves,
     We plough’d both the Earth and the Deep,
And all that we ask for, your Slaves,
     Is tithe of the treasure ye keep.
Ye have stolen the soil of our birth,
     Your beasts with our harvests are fed,—
We made ye the Masters of Earth,
     And left ye the Lords of the Bread!’

IV.

The Lords of the Bread spoke again:
     ‘Lo, this is the Law,—so take heed,—
Who gains shall inherit his gain,
     Yea, he and his uttermost seed!
With the Sword of the Strong in our hand
     We keep what was stolen of yore,
For lo! we inherit the Land,
     And ye can inherit no more—
Behold we rejoice and make mirth,
     Though the mouth of the fool gapes unfed,
For we are the Masters of Earth,
     And the fulness thereof, and the Bread!’

V.

Then answer’d the Slaves of the Mart:
     ‘O traitors, O wolves in the fold,
The blood ye have wrung from the heart
     Ye coin into drachmas of gold;
And the gold buys our sisters and wives,
     And our children are sold for the same,
While ye stand on the wreck of our lives
     Rejoicing, and trumpet your fame!
Accurst be this Land of our birth,
     And woe to this Empire,’ they said,
‘If ye, the proud Masters of Earth,
     Deny us our birthright of Bread!’

_____

SISTERS OF MIDNIGHT.

(A NEW BALLAD TO AN OLD BURTHEN.)

‘One more unfortunate weary of breath’
     (Sisters of Midnight, so runneth the ditty),
‘Rashly importunate, gone to her death,’
     Lost in the gulf of the desolate City.
Let the flood cover her, while we walk over her,
     Lit by the lamps of the Bridges forlorn—
Sisters of Midnight, pale waifs of Humanity,
Laugh at the world, all the foulness and vanity,
     Hunting your prey from the night till the morn!

Poisonous paint on us, under the gas,
     Smiling like spectres, we gather bereaven;
Leprosy’s taint on us, ghost-like we pass,
     Watch’d by the eyes of yon pitiless Heaven!
Let the stars stare at us! God, too, may glare at us
     Out of the Void where He hideth so well . . .
Sisters of Midnight, He damn’d us in making us,
Cast us like carrion to men, then forsaking us,
     Smiles from His throne on these markets of Hell!

Laugh! Those who turn from us, too, have their price!
     There, for the proud, other harlots are dressing,
They too may learn from us man’s old device—
     Food for his lust, with some sham of a blessing!
Sons of old Adam there buy the fine madam there,
     Bid with a coronet,—yea, or a crown!
Sisters, who’d envy the glory which graces them?
They, too, are sold to the lust which embraces them,
     Ev’n in the Church, with the Christ looking down!

Pure in their scorn of us, happy and fair,
     Let them go by us, contented and smiling—
Foulness that’s born of us, they, too, must share,
     Long as they welcome what we are defiling.
They, who might turn to us, comfort us, yearn to us,
     They who still smile on the Man and his sin,
Shut their proud portals of silver and gold on us!
Sisters of Midnight, tho’ shame comes tenfold on us,
     It comes twentyfold on those women within!

Leprosy’s taint on them falls (let it fall!),
     What we have poisoned, they clasp night and morrow!
Angel or saint on them vainly shall call!
     Downward they drift to our level of sorrow!
Laugh! The trade’s flourishing, thanks to our nourishing!
     Pale droop the babes, while the mother’s heart bleeds!
Sisters of Midnight, God’s good,—He avenges us!
E’en as to dust and to foulness Man changes us,
     Back goes the sin to his innocent seed!

‘One more unfortunate, weary of breath,’—
     Plunge! down she drops, leaving sorrow behind her.
‘Rashly importunate, gone to her death!’
     Spare her your pity, O fool, when ye find her!
Stretch her out merrily, murmuring, ‘Verily,
     Luck, spite of all, falls at last to her share!’
Life has rejected her, let the gulf swallow her!
Sisters of Midnight, make ready to follow her
     Down the deep waters of Death and Despair!

_____

THE LOST WOMEN.

These are the Lost, waifs which from wave to wave
     Drift lone, while yonder on the yellow strand
The laughing Children run from cave to cave
     And happy Lovers wander hand in hand.

The sun shines yonder on the green hillside,
     The bright spire points to Heaven through leafy trees,
The Maiden wears the glory of a Bride,
     The bright babe crows on the young Mother’s knees.

O happy Brides! O happy Mothers! born
     To inherit all the light that life can give,
Hear ye these voices out of depths forlorn?
     Know ye these Lost, who die that you may live?

_____

BICYCLE SONG.

(FOR WOMEN.)

I.

Changed in a trice you find me,
     Man, my master of yore!
Vainly you seek to bind me,
     For I’m your Slave no more.
Fast as you fly behind me,
     I now fly on before!

II.

Out from my prison breaking,
     Wherein so long I lay,
Into my lungs I’m taking
     Draughts of the glad new Day—
Out! where the world is waking!
     Presto! up and away!

III.

Praise to the Luck which sent me
     This magical Wheel I ride,
For now I know God meant me
     To match Man, side by side!
Wings the good Lord hath lent me,
     And oh, the world is wide!

IV.

Scornful of all disaster,
     On to the goal I flee!
My wheel grows faster and faster,
     My soul more strong and free!
Pedal your best, good Master,
     If you’d keep pace with me!

V.

Bees may hum in the clover,
     Sheep in the fold may cry,
My long siesta is over,—
     Onward at last I fly—
He who would be my lover
     Must now be swift as I!

VI.

All that I missed he misses
     Who lags behind distressed,—
Sweet were the old-time blisses
     But Freedom and Life are best—
Still, there’s a time for kisses,
     When now and then we rest!

VII.

And now I heed not a feather
     The chains I used to feel—
Soon in the golden weather,
     Edenward back we’ll steal!
Adam and Eve together!
     Throned on the Double Wheel!

_____

THE CRY FROM THE MINE.

Out of the sinister caverns of Night,
     Out of the depths where the Hell-fires are glowing,
Cometh a cry, floating up to the Light,
     Here, where glad mortals are reaping and sowing:
‘Night ever over us, blackness to cover us,
     Deeper we crawl than the graves of the Dead!
Sisters and brothers, whose fires burn so cheerily,
Fed by the coal that we work for so wearily,
     Give us, in God’s name, our wages of Bread!

‘Hell burning under us, gnome-like we dwell,
     Store for your hearths ever scraping and scooping,
Stifling and thunderous vapours of Hell
     Blacken our mouths, where we’re stooping and drooping;
Terrors environ us, lest the fierce fire on us
     Leap, as it leapt on our kin who are sped!
Children and wives wait our wages and cry for them;
Eager to toil for them, ready to die for them,
     Darkly we grope for our handful of Bread!

‘Sooner or later Death cometh this way,—
     Slain by his breathing our kindred are lying here!
Old ere our time, worn and weary and grey,
     Bear we the burthen that’s dreary as dying, here!
Pain is our portion here, gruesome our fortune here,
     Still we’re content when our dear ones are fed—
Sisters and brothers, while blindly and wearily
Ever we toil that your fires may burn cheerily,
     Give us, in God’s name, our guerdon of Bread!’

Out of the sinister caverns of Night,
     Out of the depths where these weary ones wander,
Cometh the cry, floating up to the Light,
     Up to the sunshine that never shines yonder:
‘Night ever over us, blackness to cover us,
     Toil we for ever, less living than dead!—
Sisters and brothers, whose fires burn so cheerily,
Fed by the coal that we dig for so drearily,
     See that we lack not our wages of Bread!’

_____

THE LEAD-MELTING.

’Twas clear, cold, starry, silver night,
     And the Old Year was a-dying;
Three pretty girls with melted lead
     Sat gaily fortune-trying.
They dropt the lead in water clear,
     With blushing palpitations
And, as it hissed, with fearful hearts
     They sought its revelations.

In the deep night, while all around
     The snow is whitely falling,
Each pretty girl looks down to find
     Her future husband’s calling.
The eldest sees a Castle bright,
     Girt round by shrubland shady;
And, blushing bright, she feels in thought
     A lady rich already.

The second sees a silver Ship,
     And bright and glad her face is;
Oh, she will have a skipper bold,
     Grown rich in foreign places!
The younger sees a glittering Crown,
     And starts in consternation;
For Molly is too meek to dream
     Of reaching regal station!

And time went by: one maiden got
     Her landsman, one her sailor—
The Lackey of a country count,
     The Skipper of a whaler!
And Molly has her Crown, although
     She unto few can show it—
Her crown is true-love fancy-wrought,
     Her husband, a poor Poet!

_____

I END AS I BEGAN.

I end as I began,
     I think as first I thought;
Woe worth the world, if Man
     Only of dust is wrought,
Only to dust must go
     After his life’s brief span;—
I think so still, and so
     I end as I began.

When first I learnt to know
     The common strife of all,
My boy’s heart shared the woe
     Of those who fail and fall,
For all the weak and poor
     My tears of pity ran,—
And still they flow, ev’n more
     Than when my life began!

I reverenced from the first
     The Woman-Soul divine
(Mother, that faith was nurst
     On that brave breast of thine!)
Pointing the heavenward way,
     The angel-guide of man,
She seems to me to-day
     As when my faith began!

Revolter, sword in hand,
     Friend of the weak and worn,
A boy, I took my stand
     Among the Knights forlorn;
Eager against the Strong
     To lead the martyr’d van,
I strive ’gainst Lust and Wrong
     As when the fight began!

Never to bow and kneel
     To any brazen Lie,—
To love the worst, to feel
     The least is ev’n as I,—
To hold all fame unblest
     That helps no struggling man,—
In this, as in the rest,
     I end as I began!

The creeds I’ve cast away
     Like husks of garner’d grain,
And of them all this day
     Does never a creed remain;
Save this, blind faith that God
     Evolves thro’ martyr’d Man;
Thus, the long journey trod,
     I end as I began!

I dreamed when I began
     I was not born to die,
And in my dreams I ran
     From shining sky to sky;—
And still, now life grows cold
     And I am grey and wan,
That infant’s Dream I hold,
     And end as I began!

_____

A Selection of Poems - the List

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