Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1857-10-30


The echoes of the rage of war
Fade in the Eastern distance;
- Two years ago" looms very far
In our well filled existence:
On that broad East yet more remote.
We waste not thought or feeling,
But muse on British flags afoat,
And swarthy millions kneeling.
Week after week the summer sun,
Cndimmed by cloud or shower.
With an Italian speed brings on
The happy harvest hour
The arts of peace, by plenty hurst
Proclaim the worlds alliance,
Even in the merry trumpet burst,
And shouts of gay defiance.
Then fash along the sentient wire
Some words so brief and fearful,
That they who hear them scarce desire
To see their children cheerful:
Tldings that through wild Hindostan,
Where Britains rule stood surest,
No life is safe of Christian man,
The loftiest or the poorest,
Is it a nation reused to meet
ain arms strange dominion 2
people maddened by the heat
OF just or false opinion?
No; soldiers cared for as our sons
And clothed with Englands honor
Have turned their parriCidal guns
With basest craft upon her!
Soon things that make young blood run cold
We whisper, while we tremble
Or cry that truths shall not be told
We to ourselves dissemble;
And hideous images alright
Our souls deep hiding places,
And in our sleep we start at sight
OF unknown forms and faces.
Our fair eXpanse of green and gold
Can hardly find US grateful,
The very sun that could behold
Such scenes is almost hateful
Warm rays flare up to cruel heat
We sicken and we languish,
With those on whose sad heads they beat
lntolerable anguish
We mark. as comes the breeze of morn
To freshen and to sweeten
The ripples of the oaten corn,
The billoWs of the wheaton;
And feel that not one such sweet breath
Can reach where parch d and tangled
The earth gives up to wasting death
Our brethren foully mangled
And oh the pangs of those who know
What never must be spoken
Hearts that will bear about the woe
Of memory until broken:
God give them thoughts of those who died
In ChristendOms first ages
The child, the veteran, and the BRIDE
The saints Of history pages
For these are Christian martyrs too
)
The mighty work she has to do
These agOnleS brings nearer .
Conjuring her by that pure blood
No moment to abandon
The task of world embracing good
She once has laid her hand on.
She cannot match the develish deed,
Nor mate the hideOus treason,-
Her blow is not the traitor need,
But self-defending reason:
That will be lavish of its life,
And hold all cost uncOunted.
Till through the length and breadth of strife
This peril be surmOunted.
Then may she pardon-only then
When shame and conscience stricken,
The credulOus or slothful men
Who let the horror thicken-
Who little knew and nothing planned
The evil bond to sever,
Nor dared to burst it with the hand
Of resolute endeavor.
Yet while the rulers we condemn,
Who failed in due provision,
We trust for Britain, as for them,
In history's great decision,-
That subject lands more justly ruled,
And strength more mildly welded.
Had never been, than when befOoled
To noble hopes we ylelded;
Hopes of world the force of law,
The worth Of knowledge prizing =
From Heathendom's debasing awe
To Christian reverence rising;
Hopes Of people struggling forth
From customs deep enhancement,
Led by the cOnquerOrs of the earth
To Freedom safe advancement
Be this an Oriental tale
By Saxon pride engendered,
Hopes for hundred years may fall
Yet not be all surrendered:
And now from each distraCting scene
OF passion ticrcely nourished,
We know what India might have been
Had Moslem tyrants iourished:
50 would have been, and yet would be,
If England shrunk from duty.
Then watch your harvest wealth with glee;
Rejoice in Natures beauty,
Making her bounties ministers
OF toll and self-denial,
And Nictory's surest harbingera
After the fiery trial. r,