The Anaconda standard. [volume] (Anaconda, Mont.) 1889-1970, 1896-02-24

mind aloud:
An honest isolation need not fear
The court, the church, the parlia-
ment, the crowd,
No. nor the Press. and look you well
to that
We must not dread you I'm the name
less Autocrat.
And you. dark Senate of the public
pen,
And may not. like your tyrant, deal
in spies.
Yours are the public acts of public
But yours are not their household pri-
vacies.
/ grant you one of the Great Powers
on earth,
But be not you the blatant traitors of
the hearth.
You hide the hand that writes; it must
be so,
For better so you fight for public
ends;
But some you strike can scarce return
the blow;
You should be all the nobler. o, my
friends,
Be noble. you! nor work with factions
tools
To charm a lower sphere of Illuminating
fools.
But, knowing all your power to heat or
cool,
To sooth a civic wound. or keep it
raw,
Be loyal, if you wish for wholesome
rule;
Our ancient boast is this-we rever-
ence law.
We still were loyal in our widest fights,
Or. Loyalty disloyal, battled for our
rights.
o Grief and Shame, IL while preach
of laws
Whereby to guard our freedom from
And trust an ancient manhood and the
cause
OF England and her wealth of COM
mon sense
There hang within the heavens a dark
disgrace,
Some vast Assyrian doom to burst up
on our race.
I feel the thousand cankers of our
state,
fain would shake their triple-folded
ease,
The hogs. who can believe in nothing
great,
Sneering bedridden in the down of
of Peace,
over their scrips and shares, their
meats and wine,
With stony smirks at all things human
and divine.
I honour much, 1 say. this mans ap-
peal.
We drag so deep in our commercial
We move so far from greatness that
feel
Exception to be character'd in fire.
Who looks for Godlike Greatness here
shall see
The British Goddess, sleek Respecta-
bility.
Alas. for her and for her small delights!
She feels not how the social frame is
rack'd;
She loves a little scandal which excites
A little feeling is want of tact.
For her there lie in wait millions of
foes,
And yet the mot too much" is all she
knows.
Poor soul! behold her. what decorous
CALM
She. with her weekday worldliness
sufficed,
Stands in her pew and huns her decent
With decent clippings at the name of
And she has moved on that smooth way
so long,
She hardly can believe that she shall
suffer wrong.
Alas. our Church. alas, her growing ills,
And those who tolerate not her toll
erance,
But needs must sell the burthen of their
wills
To that half-pagan harlot kept by
France!
Free subjects of the kindliest of all
thrones,
they plunge their doubts
among old rags and bones.
Alas. church-writers. alternating tribes
The vessel of your church may sink
i'm storms;
Christ cried. Woe. woe to Pharisees
and scribes;
Like them. you bicker less for truth
than forms.
I sorrow when I read the things you
write.
What unheroic pertness. what unchrist-
tian spite.
Alas, our youth. so clever yet so small. |
Thin dilettanti deep in natures plan,
Who make the emphatic One. by whom |
II ALL
An~essence less contracted than a
mani
Better wild Mahmoud's war cry once |
again
q fools, we want a man like God. and |
Godlike men.
Go. frightful omens. Yet once more / |
turn
To you that mold mems thoughts I |
call on you
To make opinion warlike. lest we learn /
A sharper lesson than we ever knew /
| hear thunder though the skies are I
fair,
But shrill you loud and long. the warn 4
ing note-Prepare.
There was recently added TO the Bri- \
fish Museum a curious autograph cor
rection which Tennyson made TO