Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/290

266

Now, after battle-triumphs of your Imperium, You hankered to enslave what of Europe remained, To enslave, to enslave, woefully to enslave, Bondsmen predestined for seizure, dung for enriching of soil, Beasts to be yoked to the chariot of triumph, And from them you deemed barbarians, to break in levies For the Imperium, your insatiate Imperium.

But, even as once, long ago We flouted the flabby wisdom of your Luther, Reformer purveying peace unto contentedly fattened townsmen, Begetting children with God-abiding spouses, And stifling freedom, So now do we flout your crude, senile wisdom! It is enkindled not by sorrow of us, nor of all humanity; Therein is not the purity that perishes for its faith; Therein is not the passion wherewith the martyr of Constance was ablaze;

And therefore, brutish dotard, Grown hoary in the service of your baneful Imperium, From whose relentless wisdom are hidden the mysteries of maltreated spirits,