Page:A channel passage and other poems (IA channelpassageot00swinrich).pdf/178

 We warred not even with these as they; We bade not them they preyed on make of them their prey.

All murderous fraud that lurks In hearts where hell's craft works Fought, crawled, and slew in darkness: they that died Dreamed not of foes too base For scorn to grant them grace: Men wounded, women, children at their side, Had found what faith in fiends may live: And yet we gave not back what righteous doom would give.

No false white flag that fawns On faith till murder dawns Blood-red from hell-black treason's heart of hate Left ever shame's foul brand Seared on an English hand: And yet our pride vouchsafes them grace too great