Page:Philosophical Review Volume 25.djvu/528

512 and prophet speak. He voices the spirit of that for which, in my poor way, I have always in my weakness been working.

Watchman, what of the night?—
 * Storm and thunder and rain,
 * Lights that waver and wane,

Leaving the watchfires unlit. Only the balefires are bright,
 * And the flash of the lamps now and then

From a palace where spoilers sit,
 * Trampling the children of men.

Prophet, what of the night?—
 * I stand by the verge of the sea,
 * Banished, uncomforted, free,

Hearing the noise of the waves And sudden flashes that smite
 * Some man's tyrannous head,

Thundering, heard among graves
 * That hide the hosts of his dead.

Mourners, what of the night?—
 * All night through without sleep
 * We weep, and we weep, and we weep.

Who shall give us our sons? Beaks of raven and kite,
 * Mouths of wolf and of hound,

Give us them back whom the guns
 * Shot for you dead on the ground.

Dead men, what of the night?—
 * Cannon and scaffold and sword,
 * Horror of gibbet and cord,

Mowed us as sheaves for the grave, Mowed us down for the right.
 * We do not grudge or repent.

Freely to freedom we gave
 * Pledges, till life should be spent.

Statesman, what of the night?—
 * The night will last me my time.
 * The gold on a crown or a crime

Looks well enough yet by the lamps.