{"1": {"fulltext": "MERICA\\nOTHKR POEMS\\nTRAND SHADWELL", "height": "3732", "width": "2248", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\nChap...A_.- Copyright No.\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "3565", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3565", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "AMERICA\\nAnd Other Poems", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "AMERICA\\nAnd Other Poems\\nBY\\nBERTRAND SHADWELL\\nAMERICA\\nA refuge for the oppressed. Now, God be praised,\\nHere they may live at peace. By her just laws\\nAll men are free and equal. No more wars\\nFor greed of gold or land. No standard raised,\\nDriving armed hordes, by bloody fever crazed,\\nTo deeds which, calm and sane, the mind abhors\\nSending their souls, in an unrighteous cause,\\nNaked before God s judgment seat, amazed.\\nSuch was this country; but, within the hour.\\nFalse creed of conquest luring her to ill,\\nShe is become an armed, imperial power,\\nCrushing a weaker people to her will.\\nI,et freedom s banner then to earth be hurled\\nAnd raise the despot s flag of the grim old world.\\nCHICAGO\\nR. R. DONNELLEY SONS CO.\\n1899", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "TWO COPIES R EC 5:1 V ED,\\nLibrary of Co8gro\u00c2\u00ab%\\nQfUoQ of tli6\\nAPR 4 -1900\\nBiejjlstir of CopyrigMt\u00c2\u00abi\\nCOPYRIGHT 1899, BY\\nBERTRAND SHADWELL\\n56?74\\nSECOND COPY,", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS.\\nPAGE.\\nAmerica Title Page\\nIn the Museum:\\nThe Venus of Melos 3\\nPsyche 4\\nNike 4\\nBas Relief 5\\nAn Old Friend 6\\nThe Fighting Gladiator 6\\nSonnets\\nRewards and Punishments 9\\nEngland to Marchand 9\\nLiberty 10\\nThe Artist 11\\nSonnet Written on Good Friday, 1898 11\\nThe Spanish Galleon 12\\nSpain s Reward 12\\nDead Foemen 13\\nA Lesson from History 13\\nMiscellaneous Poems:\\nSpain 17\\nThe Maine Disaster 18\\nKipling s Recessional Misapplied 19\\nGlory 20\\nTo the Victor the Spoils 20\\nThe Flood 21\\nWar s Parentage 22\\nWar 22\\nPrayer Before Battle 23\\nArgument in Favor of War 23\\nAs Hobson Told It 24\\nCervera 24\\nVictory 26\\nPeace (August, 1898) 27\\nvii", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "viii CONTENTS.\\nPAGE.\\nMiscellaneous Poems {Contmued):\\nThe Last Crusade 28\\nEurope in Asia and Africa 29\\nThe Black Man s Burden 30\\nDum Dum 32\\nChristianity Triumphs 33\\nDemocracy, Bound, but Unconquered 33\\nChristiani ad Leones 34\\nThe Burden of Blood 35\\nThe Peace of Europe 37\\nNovember 3, 1896 38\\nIn Exile 39\\nEvery-Day Heroes 40\\nThe Secret 41\\nEvening 42\\nOnly a Castle in the Air 42\\nThe Holy Innocents 43\\nThe Vision of Evil 44\\nThe Circle 44\\nCharity 45\\nThe Voice 45\\nA Roman Captive 46\\nA Stray Dog 52\\nPrayer of the Wounded Dervish 53\\nThe Dreyfus Case 54\\nOn Devil s Island 55\\nOld Age 56\\nGreece 56\\nSalamis 57\\nEngland and the Transvaal 58\\nCourage 59\\nTo the Native Soldiers in India 59\\nDuty 60\\nThere s Something in the English After All 61\\nSocrates 64", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "IN THE MUSEUM", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "In the Museum\\nTHE VENUS OF MELOS\\nGODDESS of Melos, I could worship still,\\nAs Greeks of old have done before thy shrine,\\nThy white, majestic purity divine,\\nThe gracious, sweet serenity of face.\\nThe womanhood, the loveliness, the grace.\\nO, soul-filled stone from the Pentelic hill\\nGoddess of Melos! I could worship still.\\nWhat hath he sought to teach, the inspired Greek\\nWho wrought those glorious limbs, that calm, smooth\\ncheek\\nMade the magnificent, firm neck to bow,\\nAnd placed eternal youth upon the brow\\nCarved on the perfect head the rippling hair\\nAnd shaped the splendid, curving bosoms fair;\\nThere is no lie, no shame of nature there.\\nNo vicious stamp of a corrupted age,\\nNo crooked lesson from a monkish page.\\nTis Venus, Venus, seen as in a glass.\\nAs kind as summer showers upon the grass.\\nAs sweet as airs where sun-steep d roses mass\\nNature s eternal soul with each new breath\\nOf still-returning life, defying death.\\n3", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "PSYCHE\\nAND here s a man who, on my hfe, has dared\\nTo put the soul in marble what a task\\nAnd chosen for the symbol a young girl,\\nAt that sweet age when woman s just matured\\nAnd yet keeps childhood s happy innocence.\\nHalf draped and half revealed, with calm, pure face,\\nGentle and modest, looking down to earth,\\nShe seems to say, I bend toward earthly things,\\nBeing of heaven.\\nAnd, sure, his soul was pure.\\nNoble and good, who, from a block of stone.\\nCould fashion such a picture of the soul.\\nL\\nNIKE\\n(the winged victory of samothrake)\\nOVELY, triumphant, grandly brave.\\nWet with the spray from the plunging wave,\\nShe stands on the prow in the rushing wind,\\nSwept on by the dash of the oars behind\\nHer garments cling to her giant form.\\nAnd her mighty pinions beat the storm.\\nPoor little stone-chippers toiling to-day.\\nHow shall we speak of her? What shall we say?\\nWhite marble miracle, standing alone.\\nOnce and forever enchanted to stone.\\nThe triumph of sculpture, the glory of Greece,\\nOf all generations the masterpiece.", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "BAS RELIEFS\\nAMONG them I admire in chief\\nThree figures carved in high reHef,\\nThree pagan revelers, intent\\nOn happy, wild abandonment:\\nA Bacchic chorus, I should say,\\nMarching along its joyous way.\\nTwo graceful youths, a woman fair,\\nWith back-tossed head and flying hair,\\nStriking upon a tambourine;\\nAnd, pacing by their side, is seen\\nA merry panther, keeping time.\\nAnd marching to the music s rhyme.\\nI gaze, until I see unfurl d\\nAll the free, happy, pagan world;\\nThe graceful joys, the sun, the mirth,\\nThe pleasures gods have sent the earth\\nThe marble figures seem to sing,\\nThe stricken tambourine to ring.\\nThe great cat frolics on its way\\nAnd raises its wild paw in play.\\nAnd, as I pass along the street.\\nOh, still I hear the music sweet.\\nAnd still I see the figures fair.\\nThe woman with the flying hair.\\nAnd, marching to the music s rhyme,\\nThe joyous panther, keeping time.\\n5", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "AN OLD FRIEND\\nAH the Farnese Hercules\\nThe mighty arms, the massive chest\\nAnd hill-Hke muscles of his bieast,\\nSwoirn with the long and fearful strain\\nOf holding up the earth and main.\\nThe sunlight, slanting through the pane,\\nMakes the old marble new again.\\nNow, what a figure of success\\nSuccess by long endurance bought\\nHath the Greek sculptor s chisel wrought.\\nBreathless, exhausted, almost dead.\\nHe hangs his bearded, virile head,\\nHis face by long, fierce suffering lined,\\nBorne with a firm, heroic mind.\\nThe crushing burden gone, at last,\\nHe graps the Hesperian apples fast.\\nTHE FIGHTING GLADIATOR\\nTHIS is no hired assassin of the ring.\\nNo slave condemned to fight, no venal thing\\nWho craves the wretched guerdon to be won.\\nBut one of those who strove at Marathon.\\nLook at the muscles tense, the nostrils wide,\\nThe glorious poise, magnificence of stride;\\nA moment, and his foe rolls in the dust\\nNo mortal can withstand the assault he must.\\n6", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "SONNETS", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "Sonnets\\nREWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS\\nSTILL, the belief I hold is fixed and strong,\\nThat evil deeds bring instant punishment,\\nAnd good deeds swift reward, although a long\\nSuccess to wicked plottings may be lent.\\nFor man is like a player at the board\\nOf some great organ if he strike the notes\\nWhich harmonize, a pure and gracious chord\\nDown the dim, vast cathedral arches floats;\\nBut, if the notes be false, the sweet sounds cease,\\nAnd discord jars the ear, and mars the prayers\\nThat into troubled hearts were bringing peace.\\nAnd healing with their balm all human cares.\\nSo does each deed a hellish discord roll.\\nOr chord of heavenly sweetness, through man s\\nsoul.\\nENGLAND TO MARCHAND\\nOUR foeman but we like you none the less.\\nFor we love daring ever. You have won\\nOur praise, and not our hate, by what you ve done.\\nWith resolution, courage and address,\\nIn spite of fever, hunger and the stress\\nOf savage foes unnumbered, and a sun\\nThat shrivels what it beats upon. Let none\\n9", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "ENGLAND TO MARCHAND\\nDeny your right applause for your success\\nAnd, though France looks upon us with an eye\\nThreatening and bloody though the loud alarm\\nIs sounding through our empire, and a cry\\nFrom every watch tower summons us to arm,\\nEre we the awful chance of battle try,\\nAccept, O son of France, tribute for bravery.\\nLIBERTY\\nA THING intangible, and yet so near\\nTo every human soul, that, through all time,\\nMen of all races and of every clime\\nHave forfeit all, to earn a thing so dear;\\nAnd gentle hearts have cast off ruth and fear\\nTo pierce a tyrant s heart, nor deemed it crime\\nBut history s verdict names the deed sublime,\\nAnd, from the stain of blood, proclaims it clear.\\nThis for the assassin What for him who gives\\nHis own life up for Liberty? We bring\\nHim greater glory far than ever lives\\nFor warrior, statesman, artist, poet, king!\\nHonor is his and reverence, when fame\\nSpeaks but the words, He died in Freedom s name.\\n10", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "THE ARTIST\\nAN angel took his palette in his hand,\\nOn lonely shores, where never ship passed by,\\nAnd, seated on the brown, ribbed ocean sand,\\nPainted a glorious sunset in the sky.\\nIn bold, swift, sweeping strokes the colors fell:\\nAmong the black-robed clouds a wonder blazed,\\nRadiance from Heaven and scarlet fires from Hell\\nThe winds forgot to move, and stood amazed,\\nAnd, when the flaming pageant slowly paled.\\nThe sea was darkened, and the vapors gray.\\nThe colors faded, and the beauty failed,\\nAnd all was finished with the dying day,\\nHe cleaned his brushes, turned his head, and smiled\\nOn his sole critic a poor fisher s child.\\nSONNET WRITTEN ON GOOD FRIDAY, i\\nTO-DAY Christ died, to teach the world to love.\\nBetween two thieves uplifted to the sky.\\nAnd ere His soul went up to God above\\nPrayed for His murderers in His agony;\\nTo-day two nations arm to pay the debt,\\nAnswering by homicide our gentle Lord,\\nWho said, in the garden under Olivet,\\nWho take the sword shall perish with the sword,\\nAnd with ten thousand temples to His praise.\\nAfter two thousand years we serve Christ thus\\nPause, ere the bloody flag of war ye raise,\\nLest those sad, fatal words apply to us\\nThose words He spoke before the sacrifice\\nEre the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice.\\n11", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "THE SPANISH GALLEON\\nI WATCH the gorgeous flag of giant Spain\\nFloat at a mighty galleon s lofty peak;\\nI see her drive, all glorious, o er the main,\\nAnd through the tempest hear her cannons speak.\\nHer storied galleries o er the billows tower\\nThe steel-clad warriors throng her stately deck\\nA fitting emblem she of that great power\\nWhich led the world and held its strength in check.\\nShe s but a phantom Thousand fathoms deep\\nDown in the silence of the seas she lies;\\nStrange sea beasts through her rotting timbers creep.\\nAbove her grave the lonely seabird cries.\\nAnd what was Spain And what is she to-day\\nAlas that aught that s noble should decay.\\nSPAIN S REWARD\\nIF Spain must fall, struck by so fell a blow\\nIf that New World, linked ever with her past.\\nShould thus inflict her ruin at the last\\nHer greatest glory bringing overthrow\\nIf, gainst belief in justice, this is so.\\nResolve shall quail and valor be aghast:\\nWho then shall care to make the daring cast.\\nWith life and fame and fortune on the throw?\\nBut, no Adventure, courage, never fail\\nThough gallant deeds may seem achieved in vain,\\nEver their glorious precedents remain;\\nAnd, though Spain perish neath war s iron hail.\\nAnd, though her blazing cities light the sky.\\nUp, like a phoenix, from their smoke, she ll fly.\\n12", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "DEAD FOEMEN\\nTRUE men will honor courage in a foe\\nAnd, when a hostile ship, all wrapped in flame,\\nYet fighting and defiant, sinks below,\\nEarning in her last hours immortal fame,\\nFrom every honest lip should come a cheer,\\nNot for the victory won, but for the men\\nWho set their country s honor above fear;\\nTheir death should force us to respect them then.\\nAlas too oft the opposite obtains,\\nAnd, after we have struck our foeman down.\\nAnd while our brothers blood our weapon stains.\\nWe strive our dark regrets in hate to drown\\nThis is the deepest hell in human hate,\\nTo hate the men whom we annihilate.\\nA LESSON FROM HISTORY\\nWHEN France was smitten through her eagle crest\\nThe victor stood above her, lying low,\\nAnd, with an armed heel upon her breast,\\nTore land and treasure from the vanquished foe\\nAnd Germany now groans beneath her arms.\\nThe sword is never absent from her side,\\nShe sleeps in steel, and dreams of night alarms,\\nAnd battles roaring on her frontiers wide.\\nAh force not then a conquered race too far\\nTarnish not victory with plunder s stain;\\nLeave not your land an endless threat of war\\nA menace to your children still, in Spain\\nArming, conspiring^ brooding on the past.\\nAnd all prepared striking in hate at last.\\n13", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\n15", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "Miscellaneous Poems\\nSPAIN\\nIN days when men most worship gain,\\nAnd ignorance contemns the past,\\nThe red and golden flag of Spain\\nI see with reverence to the last.\\nThe land the thoughtless view with scorn,\\nAs barren both of power and gold,\\nA race of warriors has borne\\nAnd gallant gentlemen of old.\\nIn wealth, in arts, in courtesy,\\nIn daring and adventurous men,\\nThe blazoned page of history see,\\nAnd pause to think what Spain was then.\\nHow first her caravels set sail\\nThrough the storm s bufifetings, nor furled\\nTheir canvas, till the watch s hail\\nTold of a new-discovered world.\\nHow Cortez burned his ships and th^n,\\nResolved, through danger, hunger, pain.\\nLed on his little band of men\\nAnd won an empire for Spain.\\n17", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "SPAIN\\nAnd how Pizarro, from afar,\\nBeyond the distant tropic glow,\\nBeyond the dim, yellow ocean bar,\\nSaw the Pacific sleep below.\\nStories that wake the adventurous heart,\\nAnd stir the generous blood again:\\nTurn from the factory and the mart\\nTo realize that such was Spain!\\nOnce first, where fame and honor s won.\\nWith painter s brush, with sword, with pen\\nAnd, though their ancient power is gone,\\nKnow that they still are gentlemen.\\nThey re brave and courteous to the last\\nTheir name was great, their empire wide\\nThen, thinking on their glorious past.\\nLearn to respect a people s pride\\nTHE MAINE DISASTER\\n(to the dead.)\\nBLASTED into eternity\\nIn the darkness of the night.\\nThey have not died on the open sea,\\nIn the hurry and stress of fight;\\nBut they laid them quietly down to sleep,\\nAnd to waken in peace again.\\nAnd the air was shocked by a thunder deep,\\nAnd was red with a fiery stain.\\n18", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "THE MAINE DISASTER\\nAnd their sleep was changed to the sleep of death,\\nIn the darkness of the night:\\nThey never shall feel the morn s sweet breath,\\nOr shall see the blessed light.\\nWhen the eastern sky is in glory dressed,\\nAnd the morning bugle s call.\\nCross the hands on each quiet breast:\\nSettle the funeral pall.\\nKIPLING S RECESSIONAL MISAPPLIED\\nLOOKING on England s mighty power,\\nAnd fearing, in temptation s hour,\\nThat, in her strength, and in her pride.\\nShe might put faith in God aside\\nA poet wrote, Be with us yet,\\nLest we forget, lest we forget.\\nOur jingoes borrow this refrain\\nIn writing of the sunken Maine\\nAnd, preaching from her unknown fate*\\nA doctrine of unreasoning hate,\\nShriek to their fetish made of mud,\\nO, give us blood O, give us blood\\n[The American Board of inquiry especially stated that the\\nauthors of the explosion were unknown. The explosion may\\nhave been caused by the insurgents.\\n19", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "GLORY\\nI STOOD upon a mighty plain by night,\\nThe white-faced moon showed its fantastic light,\\nAnd with a steady tramp, across the plain.\\nMoved all the men were e er in battle slain.\\nRank behind rank, their weapons in their hands,\\nFrom long past centuries and far-off lands.\\nThe firm earth shook and thundered neath their tread\\nA shoreless never-ending stream of dead.\\nTheir eyes were glazed, their deadly wounds agape,\\nFrom sword and lance s stab and tearing grape.\\nAnd shattering musket ball and smashing shell,\\nAnd all the implements designed in hell.\\nA ghastly spectacle and each was dyed\\nIn the dark blood of murder, and they cried\\nWith a great voice to heaven, Forgive, O Ljord\\nWe took the sword, and perish with the sword.\\nTO THE VICTOR THE SPOILS\\nTHROUGH a mighty city, gallant and gay,\\nOn to glory! the bugles play;\\nFor an army is passing down the street\\nWith an endless tramp of thunderous feet.\\nBeating the earth with a measured time\\nTo the martial music s shrilling rhyme.\\nWith shrieking fife, and with throbbing drum,\\nAnd with clatter of arms, They come, they come!\\n20", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "TO THE VICTOR THE SPOILS\\nIn manhood s strength and in pride of Hfe\\nThey laugh as they think of the coming strife;\\nFor the madness of war is in the air\\nAnd throbs in the heartbeats. Vive la guerre!\\nOn a battlefield, in the silent night,\\nA lean, crook d moon sheds a ghostly light\\nWhere the slain He grouped, as the bursting shell\\nHas hurled them prone with its breath from hell.\\nAnd the cursed machine guns blasting sweep\\nIs shown in many a bleeding heap,\\nAnd the track of the shrapnel and the grape\\nBy the ghastly dead with their wounds agape.\\nTorn and mangled, bloody and grim.\\nWith wide, white eyes in the moonlight dim\\nAnd with wide, white lips that, with never a breath,\\nSpeak, not of glory, but of death.\\nDeath that is red with the murderer s stain.\\nDeath that is stamped with the brand of Cain,\\nDeath in his awful shape is there,\\nAnd laughs as he mutters, Vive la guerre.\\nTHE FLOOD\\nTHE river has burst its bounds.\\nAnd is sweeping over the plain\\nIts waves leap on, like maddened hounds.\\nTo ruin and death and pain.\\nAlas for the waters are uncontrolled,\\nDreadful and dark and blind:\\nWhat cares the deep for the dead that sleep.\\nAnd the living left behind.\\n21", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "THE FLOOD\\nThe madness has reached its height\\nAnd is spreading over the land\\nMen call for War in his soulless might,\\nWith his sword in his bloody hand.\\nAlas for mothers will weep and moan,\\nWhen, in dreams of the night, they see\\nTheir slaughtered children, who lie alone\\nIn the depths of the awful sea.\\nWAR S PARENTAGE\\nIF severed arteries and spattered brains be glory;\\nIf souls gone forth in homicide do well\\nIf bloody cruel deeds lend light to life s sad story\\nThen War is surely not a child of Hell.\\nWAR\\nWHAT bloody madness doth possess mankind,\\nThat they, with futile sophistry, should seek\\nTo glorify a thing detestable.\\nAnd make of wholesale homicide a deed\\nFit to be lauded to the very stars?\\nAs though a cruel murder in itself\\nThe vilest, most abominable act\\nMust but be multiplied a thousand-fold\\nTo straight become a gift from the pure heavens\\nFor which the murderer, with blood-stained hands,\\nShould dare to outrage God by giving thanks,\\nThus making Him the accomplice of the crime\\nAnd adding to the sin with blasphemy.\\n22", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "PRAYER BEFORE BATTLE\\nGOD of the righteous, hear our prayer;\\nBecause thou hast made us great and strong,\\nGrant us Thy hght, lest, unaware,\\nWe draw the sword to commit a wrong.\\nGreat God of Hosts, to Thee we pray,\\nO, not for victory (in Thy trust\\nLeave we the issue of the fray).\\nBut, lest our quarrel be unjust.\\nWe are Thy people, all our cause\\nLay we before Thy judgment seat\\nIf we have erred against Thy laws,\\nGive us, not triumph, but defeat.\\nARGUMENTS IN FAVOR OF WAR\\nWHERE fever does its deadly work,\\nOur generous lads are gone to fight.\\nOh, pshaw whatever is, is right\\nThink of the profits made in pork.\\nIn that pestiferous damp and heat\\nThey say that men in thousands die.\\nKeep still, our speculators cry;\\nLook at the corner made in wheat.\\nAnd widowed women, evil-starred,\\nAnd mothers, v/eeping for their boys.\\nShould cease at once their foolish noise,\\nWhen fortunes may be made in lard.\\n23", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "AS HOBSON TOLD IT\\nI M sorry I couldn t do it\\nI was quite chagrined, you know;\\nBut, you see, with our rudder blown away,\\nAnd a gap in our plates below,\\nWhere the Spanish torpedo had struck her.\\nAnd fifty holes more to the good,\\nFrom shot and shell and machine guns,\\nWe had to sink where we could.\\nThere s nothing to make a scene about\\nI d rather you wouldn t cheer;\\nI couldn t do anything else but go,\\nWhen they called for a volunteer.\\nAny man among you d have done it\\nBut I d like you to know, all the same.\\nThat I tried to complete my orders.\\nAnd I really wasn t to blame.\\nCERVERA.\\nHAIL to thee, gallant foe!\\nWell hast thou struck thy blow-\\nHopeless of victory\\nDaring unequal strife,\\nValuing more than life\\nHonor and chivalry.\\nForth from the harbor s room\\nRushing to meet thy doom.\\nLit by the day s clear light.\\nOut to the waters free\\nOut to the open sea\\nThere should a sailor fight,\\n24", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "CERVERA\\nWhere the red battle s roar\\nBeats on the rocky shore,\\nThunders proclaiming\\nHow the great cannon s breath\\nHurls forth a dreadful death,\\nSmoking and flaming.\\nWhile her guns ring and flash.\\nSee each frail vessel dash,\\nThough our shots rend her,\\nSwift through the iron rain.\\nBearing the flag of Spain,\\nScorning surrender.\\nHemmed in twixt foe and wreck,\\nBlood soaks each slippery deck,\\nStill madly racing,\\nTill their ships burn and reel,\\nCrushed by our bolts of steel,\\nFiring and chasing.\\nDriven to the rocks at last.\\nNow heels each shattered mast,\\nFlames the blood drinking,\\nEach with her load of dead.\\nWrapped in that shroud of red.\\nSilenced and sinking.\\nVanquished but not in vain\\nAncient renown of Spain,\\nComing upon her.\\nOnce again lives in thee.\\nAll her old chivalry,\\nAll her old honor.\\n25", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "CERVERA\\nEver her past avers,\\nWhen wealth and lands were hers,\\nThough she might love them.\\nDie for their keeping, yet\\nSpain, in her pride, has set\\nHonor above them.\\nVICTORY\\nWHEN the roar of guns has ended.\\nAnd the battle died away.\\nAnd the smoke has blown to leeward\\nFrom the shipping in the bay;\\nWhen the mad delight of combat.\\nWith its fierce ecstatic thrill.\\nHas left us dull and listless.\\nWith no further wish to kill;\\nWe can think upon our victory.\\nAnd can meditate with pride\\nOn the glory of the action.\\nIts heroic homicide;\\nHow our gallant sailors shouted\\nWhen the foe was blown on high.\\nAnd her men, all torn asunder.\\nFell in fragments from the sky.\\nCan remember all the shrieking\\nOf the Spanish wounded, when\\nEvery shot crashed through their vessels\\nAnd the bodies of their men,\\n26", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "VICTORY\\nTill ship by ship they foundered,\\nWith the living and the dead,\\nMidst the struggles of the drowning.\\nAnd the water streaked with red.\\nAnd we gaze upon the waters,\\nAnd we shudder at the stain.\\nFor we think of the first blood shed\\nAnd the curse God placed on Cain.\\nPEACE (AUGUST, 1898)\\nGive peace in our time, O Lord.\\nFROM battle and from murder. Lord:\\nO let not murder stain our hands\\nThough all the nations leave Thy word\\nAnd shut their ears to Thy commands.\\nMay we among them all obey\\nWhat Thou, throughout Thy life, hast taught,\\nAnd put cursed homicide away,\\nNor set Thine agony at naught.\\nO let us not be deaf and blind.\\nSpurning the essence of our creed\\nMake us, O Saviour of mankind,\\nChristians at last in heart and deed.\\nWe say, we worship Thee above.\\nAnd think that we believe Thy word.\\nThou, who hast died to teach us love.\\nAnd, in the garden, cursed the Sword;\\nThou, who upon the cross hast bled\\nThat love might conquer, hatred cease\\nThen let our hands no more be red;\\nGrant us, dear Lord, forever, peace.\\n27", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "THE LAST CRUSADE\\n(dedicated to the czar of RUSSIA.)\\nTHIS is the holy Christmastide,\\nWhen the Lord Christ came to be crucified;\\nAnd all the nations, the peoples all,\\nAre waiting the devil s bugle call\\nTo cover the earth with a funeral pall.\\nNever before in this world of ill\\nWere such vast multitudes trained to kill.\\nAnd we re skillful, too, at the horrid game;\\nWe can boast, with never a thought of shame,\\nHow our best explosives, our newest guns,\\nCan slaughter a thousand women s sons,\\nWhile a tithe of the sand from the hour glass runs,*\\nAnd tell you, with vain and foolish smiles.\\nHow our magazine rifle kills at miles.\\nSurely tis time that war should cease!\\nTwo thousand years since the Prince of Peace\\nLived and suffered and loved and died.\\nSince the blood gushed forth from His pierced side\\nYet we hold the faith, but His word deride.\\nKneel to Him, pray to Him, praise His name\\nAnd make ready for murder just the same.\\n[In the recent maneuvers in France a battery of the new\\nquick-firing guns entirely destroyed a target consisting of 200\\ndummy wooden soldiers placed at a distance of two and a half\\nmiles, in one minute and three quarters.]\\n28", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "THE LAST CRUSADE\\nAnd the world must be lost to Christ indeed,\\nWhen the men who are chosen to teach His creed\\nAre so strangely politic. Scarcely one\\nCalls battle and murder an evil done\\nOr points to the words of God s own Son,\\nWho came to the earth from His throne above\\nSimply and solely to teach us love.\\nAh, Christ s anointed Ah, holy church\\nWill you leave your Master thus in the lurch?\\nCan none of your number yet be made\\nTo stand like men gainst the bloody trade\\nAnd preach, like Christians, Christ s own crusade?\\nCan t a few be found in your fold so wide\\nTo cry God s judgment on homicide?\\nEUROPE IN ASIA AND AFRICA\\nFOR the greed of gold and the lust of land,\\nArmed to the teeth the Christians stand.\\nTo rob the heathen with bloody hand.\\nThey have every devilish tool, devised\\nIn the brains of the highly civilized.\\nTo butcher a savage foe surprised.\\nThe desert can tell the way they pass\\nFor the dead he heaped in a horrid mass.\\nWhere their Maxims mowed them down like grass.\\nYou can follow their track on the fertile plain.\\nFor the rivers run with a crimson stain.\\nAnd the grass is wet with a dreadful rain.\\n29", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "EUROPE IN ASIA AND AFRICA\\nO, their hands are thick with their brothers blood,\\nAnd the butchered cry from beneath the sod,\\nAnd the cannon smoke has gone up to God.\\nBut, since they profess the Christian creed.\\nThey must palHate each atrocious deed.\\nWhen murder has made a road for greed.\\nSo, to cheat their Christ, when their conscience pricks.\\nWith solemn, religious mien, they fix\\nA hypocrite s eye on the crucifix,\\nForgetting their slaughter a little space.\\nTo say, with a sanctimonious face,\\n*We slay, for the love of the human race.\\nTHE BLACK MAN S BURDEN\\n(after RUDYARD KIPLING.)\\nTAKE up the sword and rifle.\\nSend forth your ships with speed.\\nTo join the nations scramble\\nAnd vie with them in greed\\nGo find your goods a market\\nBeyond the western flood.\\nThe heathen who withstand you\\nShall answer it in blood.\\nTake up the sword and rifle,\\nFor so does all the world;\\nThere s none shall dare upbraid you\\nWhen once your flag s unfurled.\\nThe race is to the swiftest.\\nThe battle to the strong;\\nSuccess is the criterion.\\nNone cares to count the wrong.\\n30", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE BLACK MAN S BURDEN\\nTake up the sword and rifle,\\nAnd know no fear or pause,\\nWhat though your hands be bloody,\\nWho calls ye to the laws\\nThe ports ye wish to enter.\\nThe roads ye wish to tread.\\nMake them with heathen living,\\nMark them with heathen dead.\\nTake up the sword and rifle,\\nRob every savage race,\\nAnnex their lands and harbors.\\nFor this is Christian grace.\\nE en though ye slaughter thousands,\\nYe still shall count it gain\\nIf ye extend your commerce.\\nWho dreads the curse of Cain?\\nTake up the sword and rifle\\nStill keeps your conscience whole\\nSo soon is found an unction\\nTo soothe a guilty soul.\\nGo with it to your Maker,\\nFind what excuse ye can\\nRob for the sake of justice,\\nKill for the love of man.\\n31", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "DUM DUM\\nBECAUSE it can t be cruel, you know,\\nTo torture and cripple a savage foe,\\nWe ve just invented a bullet fresh\\nTo shatter his bones and to rip his flesh.\\nIt s a trick of the world, as the world well knows,\\nFor a snob to judge a man by his clothes,\\nAnd a civilized person s pity is small\\nFor a wretch who doesn t wear any at all.\\nBut, although he s a nigger, the beast is brave,\\nSo we ve made him a bullet with point concave,\\nWhich flattens and flies into little bits\\nAnd smashes his carcass wherever it hits.\\nIt would be a shocking and brutal thing\\nGainst a civilized man such a ball to wing;\\nAnd, besides, the foe, if he weren t a black.\\nWould very probably wing it back.\\nSo we keep the toy as a neat surprise\\nFor a man armed only with assegais\\nOr an old and obsolete flint-lock gun,\\nSo that war s not danger, but only fun.\\nWhat! You think it is devil s fun, you say!\\nAnd it s brutal murder thus to slay\\nA race that is childish-, helpless, nude\\nSuch talk s un-Christian as well as rude.\\n32", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "CHRISTIANITY TRIUMPHS.\\n*The insurgents opened fire on the turretship Monad-\\nnock with mi^skets, kilhng one man and wounding three.\\nThe Monadnock then destroyed half the town (of Para-\\nnaque), including the church. Daily Papers.\\nO SHOCKING satire on a bloody war.\\nFought for the love of man. The bursting shell\\nMakes havoc in the dwelling house of God;\\nSwift from its blessed roof spring smoke and fire\\nThe walls fall inward on the place of prayer,\\nCrushing the holy altar in their fall;\\nThe flame mounts upward to the lofty spire,\\nPointing on high to heaven s eternal peace;\\nIt seizes on the emblems of our faith\\nOf man s salvation lifted to the world;\\nIt licks, it glows around it, triumphing.\\nDown falls the cross of Christ; a breath of hell\\nHas swept it from the earth and devils laugh.\\nSo little won after two thousand years.\\nDEMOCRACY, BOUND BUT UNCONQUERED.\\nBOUND, but unconquered, yea invincible\\nThough he be captive now to little men\\n(Small venal tricksters, with their subtle tongues,\\nMean politician hucksters, to be bought\\nBy any trader s dollars easily;)\\nThough foiled, deceived, deluded, laughed to scorn,\\nCaught in a mesh by cunning, crafty minds.\\nTied fast with cords which eat into his flesh,\\nAnd helpless now a day will surely come\\nWhen he shall burst in shreds his shameful bonds,\\nStrike down the liars who have duped him long\\nAnd after centuries of wrong be free.\\n33", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "CHRISTIANI AD LEONES.\\n(a paradox.)\\nMETHINKS the pagans have a cause to hate\\nThe name of Christian cordially today,\\nTo dread us chiefly, when we kneel and pray\\nTo our great founder Christ, who yet, we say,\\nWas meek and gentle, lowly in his state.\\nTaught us to love our enemies alway.\\nAnd that to pardon sins was truly great.\\nBut, since we did not wish to heed his word,\\nWe hid it in a rigmarole of creeds,\\nPutting what we called faith instead of deeds.\\nChanging his sweet commands to suit our needs.\\nSo that our Christian teachings now accord\\nWith what Christ taught, as did the noxious weeds\\nSown in the wheat. Thus prophesied our Lord.\\nDo good to them that hate you, Christ commands.\\nWe view such dangerous maxims with alarm\\nO, but the church soon lulls us into calm\\nPouring upon our conscience healing balm\\nAnd blessing us, although, with bloody hands,\\nWe slaughter those who never wished us harm,\\nAnd cheat the weak of liberty and lands.\\nEngland, France, Russia, Germany, and now\\nLast hope of good America unite\\nTo rob and kill the helpless, in despite\\nOf that sweet creed of pardon, love and light;\\nAnd, while before the perfect Christ they bow\\nPray for success in deeds of Hell and night\\nWith sanctimonious face and lying vow.\\n34", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "CHRISTIANI AD LEONES\\nThey rob, forsooth, that justice may prevail\\nThey murder, for the love they bear mankind:\\nFor freedom s sake, the weaker races bind\\nIn captive chains thus seeking God to blind\\nTo massacres at which their own souls quail\\nAs though their Maker had a human mind,\\nAs if the Eternal s punishments could fail.\\nThe Christian nations now oppress the world\\nTis they steal from the heathen, they who kill\\nPagans in holocausts tis they who fill\\nThe earth with wrong and make Christ s teachings nil\\nFor theft their homicidal flag s unfurled.\\nWhat care they, so they glut their tradesman s till,\\nThat hosts, in blood, to nothingness are hurled?\\nIt may be, after all, that those who cried\\nIn, what we call, the days of pagan night,\\nThe Christians to the lions! had some right\\nAnd reason on their side; for such a fight\\nTwixt fierce and cruel creatures might decide\\nWhich be the bloodier now the sons of light\\nOr those fell beasts which range the desert wide.\\nTHE BURDEN OF BLOOD.\\nSHOOT them down and pile them up,\\nFill the trenches full of dead.\\nSee the vultures come to sup.\\nDeathlike, hovering overhead.\\nLeave them one or two, at least;\\nThey deserve their nightly feast.\\n35", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "THE BURDEN OF BLOOD\\nSlip the cartridge in your gun,\\nSnick the breech-block into place,\\nHoly gee, but this is fun.\\nThere s a man I see his face.\\nCrack! He tumbles in the mud\\nIn a little stream of blood.\\nThat makes four I ve plugged today\\nNot a botching piece of work\\nEvery shot a center say,\\nThis is better than New York.\\nTill this civilizing war\\nI had never lived before.\\nWhat? You say your conscience calls?\\nSick of slaughter? Now, that s rot\\nWoman s nonsense baby squalls\\nSure you don t know what is what.\\nIf we kill them off, you know.\\nIt s because we love them so.\\nKipling is the man you need.\\nGot the White Man s Burden, Bill?\\nThat s a soothing thing to read\\nWhen you want to rob and kill.\\nThat will cure your conscience-smart;\\nWhy, I know it off by heart.\\nIt s to civilize their race\\nThat we butcher them by scores.\\nWhere s the whisky? Take a brace!\\nMawkish chaps like you are bores.\\nShoot them down It s all they re worth\\nCivilize them off the earth.\\n36", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "THE BURDEN OF BLOOD\\nWhy, we ve purchased them, you know,\\nAll men equal? Not at all.\\nThey re our property, and so\\nWe may kill them, great and small.\\nUseful when they re dead, at least,\\nFor a rotting vulture feast.\\nTHE PEACE OF EUROPE\\nALL Europe is an armed camp;\\nThe echo of the sentry s tramp\\nIs heard by night in every town,\\nOn every height grim earthworks frown\\nThe frontiers are hedged with steel,\\nTheir roads are grooved with cannon wheel.\\nNew arms are forged with murderous skill.\\nAnd every man is trained to kill;\\nWith rifle shot or cannon s breath\\nTo strike from far with sudden death,\\nHurling to judgment those that live.\\nUsurping God s prerogative.\\nAnd at the counter, desk and till\\nMerchants and clerks are soldiers still\\nAnd, like the puppets in their box\\nThe showman tosses there and locks,\\nThey shall be taken forth some day\\nTo act in dreadful tragedy.\\nWhen next the battle blast is blown,\\nTwill not be army corps alone;\\nWhole nations in a mass shall rise.\\nAnd rush to bloody sacrifice,\\nWhile from the seas their cannons roar\\nTo answering cannon on the shore.\\n37", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "THE PEACE OF EUROPE\\nPeace moans and tosses in her sleep,\\nAnd thinks she sees a shadow creep\\nTo plunge a dagger in her breast;\\nShe struggles, with the dream oppressed,\\nThen starts in terror from the bed\\nThe sword has fallen from its head.\\nWhen will it come? for come it must\\nThe great and awful holocaust\\nThe solemn cannon thunder loud,\\nThe black and heavy sulphur cloud.\\nWhich, like a death pall in the sky,\\nShall hang, where countless thousands die.\\nThe pouring of the leaden rain\\nUpon the life-encumbered plain,\\nThe sudden lightnings, leaping wide\\nTo blast the armies in their pride;\\nFrom all these millions of men,\\nO, death shall reap a harvest then.\\nNOVEMBER 3, 1896\\nI am not thine, but free, and forever defy thee.\\nCarlyle, Sartor Resartus.\\nSATAN sat on a silver throne\\nAnd dragged the folds of a flag to his knees,\\nAnd counted a nation s men as his ovv^n,\\nAnd said I shall win these souls with ease.\\nBut a mighty wind rose out of the sea;\\nIn its roar was the cry of a people s pride,\\nAnd shook the victorious banner free\\nFrom his crooked talons and flung it wide.\\n38", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "NOVEMBER 3, 1896\\nAnd it gleamed like a beacon to lands afar,\\nWithout a stain from his sinful gripe\\nAnd honesty shone in every star\\nAnd honor was written on every stripe.\\nw\\nIN EXILE\\nHAT shall I dream of Italy?\\nA campanile, rising fair\\nAbove an antique city s roofs\\nAnd soaring in the crystal air;\\nOr, seen above the lemon groves,\\nA white-walled village, standing high\\nUpon a hill with olives gray,\\nBeneath a blue and cloudless sky.\\nA ruined temple on a plain.\\nLonely beside the lonely wave.\\nHalf its ribbed columns still erect,\\nHolding the broken architrave.\\nAn old cathedral s rich facade.\\nWhere dim mosaics faintly glow;\\nDark, narrow ways, where palace walls\\nEcho the boatman s cry below.\\nThe golden orange, flaming bright\\nAmong the cool green of the leaves\\nThe arabesque the curling vine\\nUpon the broken trellis weaves.\\nThe wild campagnia, wide and free\\nThe sun-steep d pine tree, dark and tall\\nA castle in a sapphire sea\\nO Italy, I love you all.\\n39", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "EVERY-DAY HEROES\\nI LL sing you a song with a full, deep breath\\nFor my blood runs fast by its artery walls\\nOf strong men, brave in the presence of death,\\nAnd quick and quiet when duty calls.\\nOf a foot that is firm on the brink of the pit,\\nOf a hand with a grip that can never tire,\\nOf a will that s as strong as a Spanish bit,\\nAnd a heart that s been tried by fire.\\nI honor the men who have fought and died\\nFor the sake of the land which they loved, but still,\\nAlas! for the courage of homicide,\\nCondemned by God s edict, Thou shalt not kill.\\nBut the men who jump at the ring of the bell\\nAnd harness the horses, strong and fleet,\\nEach strap in its place and buckled well.\\nAnd in fifteen seconds are in the street\\nWho climb through the smoke and the fire s fierce roar.\\nThough the blazing roof may come crashing through\\nThose are the men that I honor more,\\nFor they are both brave and human, too.\\nAnd when I read how one more has tried\\nTo save a life, and has paid the price\\nWhich our Lord paid once, and has nobly died.\\nAnd has climbed on his ladder to Paradise\\nAnd I know that his comrades had done the same\\nHad they been where he was my pulses thrill,\\nAnd I humbly say, T am much to blame,\\nIn this sordid world there are heroes still.\\n40", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "THE SECRET\\n1SAID to Death, as we sat alone,\\nSide by side, on an old grave stone\\nIts words effaced by a century s rain,\\nMoss and lichen and weather stain\\nIn the old church yard, neath the antique yew,\\nDark, dark, with the sunset looking through\\nI said to Death, *Is it ease or pain,\\nEternal loss, or eternal gain.\\nThe peace of God, which thou hast in store,\\nOr just black nothingness, nothing more?\\nThy face is hid in thy long black hair;\\nBehind its darkness what is there there?\\nDeath folded him close in each raven wing.\\nTurned his face to the sunset s glow,\\nAnd sat like a lovely carven thing,\\nKeeping guard o er the dust below.\\nHe rested so peaceful and quiet there,\\nWith a gentle bend of his beautiful head,\\nClothed in the waves of its shadowy hair.\\nThat I touched his hand with my hand and said\\nDeath, dear Death, come, tell me here\\nOf what we hope, or of what we fear\\nIs to die a bright passage to fuller life,\\nOr a dreamless resting from pain and strife?\\nIs the face of the loved one forever hid\\nBy the earth which falls on the coffin lid\\nTurn to me now, O, Death, and tell\\nWhat is hid neath the fables of heaven and hell?\\nWe sit alone, neath the old yew tree\\nIt shall never be known but to me and thee;\\nIf thou lovest me, let me thy visage see.\\nDeath turned him round and said, Come with me!\\n41", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "EVENING\\nLAST night the air was pure and sweet,\\nAnd all the world seemed sweet to me\\nThe meadow grass about my feet\\nClung, rich with clover, to my knee.\\nI watched the sky of loving blue\\nWith sunset glow, with twilight pale,\\nAnd saw the mist which brings the dew\\nCreep from the pine woods up the vale.\\nAnd through the sleeping fields it stole\\nLike peace into a quiet soul.\\nONLY A CASTLE IN THE AIR\\nONLY a castle in the air\\nBuilt high above the careless crowds\\nIts snow-white ramparts shining fair\\nAmong the clouds, among the clouds.\\nIts walls and towers rise pile on pile.\\nIts golden pinnacles flash bright,\\nIts silken banners, for a while,\\nFly glorious in the morning s light.\\nOnly a loved forsaken truth\\nOnly a generous, noble thought\\nA pure and chivalrous dream of youth,\\nHalf way to earth from heaven brought.\\nOur best resolves are broken deeds\\nSome fault each highest effort mars;\\nYet, to have striven, our spirit leads\\nA little nearer to the stars.\\n42", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "THE HOLY INNOCENTS\\nTHE Innocents came to the Gates of Gold,\\nAnd the Christ-child opened and let them in.\\nConsider the lilies, how they grow;\\nThey toil not, neither do they spin.\\nAnd they passed into peace through the Gates of Gold,\\nLeaving for ever this world of sin.\\nOh, look at the lilies, how white they glow\\nThey toil not, neither do they spin.\\nAnd the daisies shine in the heavenly light.\\nLike little clean souls, and the golden rod\\nRaises in rapture its blossoms bright,\\nAnd the buttercups look in the face of God.\\nAnd the roses, yellow and cream and red,\\nOffer for ever their incense sweet.\\nAnd the sunflowers worship with upturned head,\\nAnd the hyacinths bend at the Father s feet.\\nFor the flowers all stand at the Gates of Gold,\\nJust as they are in this world of sin,\\nJust as they grow in the garden mold.\\nBecause God has opened and let them in.\\n43", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF EVIL\\nUPON a mighty crag I stopped to rest:\\nThe sun was slowly sinking towards the west\\nWhen, turning eastward from its blinding glare,\\nI saw an evil creature in the air.\\nA dark and awful being of giant size,\\nTowering, he hung suspended in the skies\\nSpirit of wickedness and horrid fate,\\nA king to dominate the world by hate\\nO er the defenceless land, with threatening stare.\\nHe raised his dreadful hand to say, Despair\\nFear not, my friend, in gentle accents cried\\nA mild and glorious presence at my side\\nAnd, clear and bright, in heavenly beauty stood,\\nIn Charity s blue robe, eternal Good.\\nI am the substance, and that figure black.\\nWhich stands, so fearful, gainst the vaporous rack.\\nAnd seems to rule the earth, with gesture proud\\nAnd fierce, is but my shadow on a cloud.\\nTHE CIRCLE.\\nAROUND the blazing sun we swing.\\nAnd winters freeze and summers burn\\nEarth, spinning in its endless ring.\\nMakes day and night come each in turn;\\n^And all things in their circles move.\\nAnd this is mighty Nature s way,\\nEver returning in its groove.\\nDeath wakes to life, night yields to day.\\n44", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "THE CIRCLE\\nAnd other lives their turns await,\\nWhen we are psychic force and dust?\\nAnd good and bad still alternate,\\nAnd nothing ends return it must.\\nAnd so, I think, our hope is plain,\\nThat even if we doubt the soul\\nThe self-same atoms, once again,\\nShall rush together as a whole.\\nCHARITY.\\nA SWORD that is strong and trenchant,\\nA shield with a mighty curve,\\nTo guard the wronged and defenceless,\\nA balance that cannot swerve,\\nA heart by no foolish pity moved,\\nAn eye that sees no disparity,\\nAnd an arm that smites like the thunderbolt.\\nJUSTICE is Charity.\\nTHE VOICE\\nUPON a night, when visible blackness lay\\nO er earth and sky and hid the dangerous way,\\nThe moon gone down, the heavens without a spark,\\nI heard a friend s voice calling through the dark.\\nWhat was the thing it meant, I cannot tell\\nOnly, I seemed to know that all was well\\nAnd, ever since that night of darkness black,\\nEach day I hear the voice, and answer back.\\nIt surely is my soul that speaks alone\\nIn its own language, to the mind unknown.\\nWith something which pervades eternal space,\\nAnd holds the universe in its embrace.\\n45", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "A ROMAN CAPTIVE\\nMORITURI te salutant,\\nHear the gladiators cry,\\nIn the fierce Italian sunlight,\\nShield and weapon flashing high.\\nThose about to die salute thee.\\nVoices rising, like the roar\\nOf a mighty ocean billow\\nBreaking on a rocky shore.\\nOn the sands of the arena,\\nLighted by the noonday glow,\\nStreaming through the purple awning,\\nArmed, they stand a splendid show-\\nLimbs with thews of living iron.\\nFaces handsome bronzed and bold\\nEvery man a finished statue.\\nCast in a heroic mold.\\nTrained to combat, till his weapon\\nIs alive within his grasp,\\nActive as the forest leopard.\\nSwifter than the striking asp.\\nNow the line becomes a colmun.\\nAnd, with measured tread, the band\\nMarches from the arena, leaving\\nTwo men facing on the sand.\\nOne, in fillet and in tunic.\\nLike a runner, Hghtly dressed.\\nGrasping in his hand a trident.\\nThreatens his opponent s breast.\\n46", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "A ROMAN CAPTIVE\\nThus he holds him at a distance,\\nFeinting, every now and then.\\nLike a fisher, to cast o er him\\nNet of steel for catching men.\\nHis opposer, a barbarian,\\nSent by Caesar here to Rome,\\nWith a string of other captives.\\nFrom his savage northern home.\\nA fantastic helmet hiding\\nHead and neck, with heavy greaves,\\nBuckled for the legs protection.\\nWhich the shield unsheltered leaves.\\nWith his sword on guard before him.\\nMoving stealthily and slow.\\nCrouching like a cat ere springing,\\nKeeps advancing on his foe\\nRound and round about they circle,\\nAll alert, hand, foot, and eye.\\nEach one watching for an opening,\\nLife and death are waiting by.\\nSpreading wide its steely meshes.\\nQuick and true the net is thrown\\nSwifter leaps the active savage.\\nAnd it circles air alone.\\nNow the swordsman hunts the fisher.\\nAnd the fisher, fleeing fast,\\nGathers up his net in running.\\nHoping for a truer cast.\\n47", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "A ROMAN CAPTIVE\\nBut the wild, strong feet behind him,\\nThough the hounds might pant and lag,\\nHunting in their northern forest.\\nOft have wearied out the stag.\\nSpite of heavy greaves impeding\\nHelmet s weight and massive height,\\nWho can match the savage hunter,\\nRunning with the game in sight?\\nNow retiarius turn and double;\\nJust as well the reeling mast.\\nDriving o er the raging ocean,\\nMight out-speed the tempest s blast.\\nSuddenly the swift sword flashes,\\nAnd descends strong, quick, and true,\\nStrikes the flyer on the shoulder.\\nCuts the deltoid muscle through.\\nHits the bone with such a shock,\\nThat, with a noise of rattling steel,\\nMan and net and trident turning,\\nWhirling, to the barriers reel.\\nThere he crouches, wounded, helpless,\\nStaining red the yellow sand,\\nMaking to the cruel commons\\nPlea for mercy with his hand.\\nMercy from the Roman plebs?\\nCompassion from the people s will?\\nNow the whole arena echoes\\nWith a long, wild cry of\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Kill!\\n48", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "A ROMAN CAPTIVE\\nCraven cowards, fed on bounty,\\nNot a soldier in the brood,\\nAll that s left of ancient valor\\nIs their tiger s lust for blood.\\nLike a statue stands the savage;\\nFrom his sword no death-stroke comes,\\nTo obey the vile decision\\nOf the downward pointing thumbs.\\nBut he cries, in broken Latin,\\nLet the Roman rabble know\\nTis the custom of my people\\nNot to strike a fallen foe.\\nBut, if wounds do not prevent him.\\nTo await, until he stand\\nFirm again on the defensive.\\nWith his weapon in his hand\\nAnd, to slay a man disabled.\\nLying bleeding on the ground.\\nWould disgrace our meanest warrior,\\nBranding him a craven hound.\\nFor a moment there is silence;\\nThen there comes a muttering roar,\\nFirst of all like distant thunder.\\nWhen the rains of autumn pour\\nThen all Rome stands up and rages.\\nTill the bestial voices chime\\nLike the cry of the carnivora\\nFrom their dens at feeding time.\\n49", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "A ROMAN CAPTIVE\\nNow in swarms they scale the barriers,\\nAnd within the arena stand,\\nCrowding on the tall barbarian,\\nWho awaits them, sword in hand,\\nWith his back against the massive\\nTimbers of the entrance gate.\\nAnd the sharp point of his weapon\\nSteady, threatening, and straight.\\nCalm and watchful he awaits them.\\nAnd the many headed crowd\\nHangs back, Hke a cry of mongrels\\nRound a gray wolf, yelling loud.\\nAnthony, the friend of Caesar,\\nHeadstrong, generous, and gay.\\nWas director of the combats\\nIn his absence on that day.\\nSomewhat given to wine and women,\\nStill a soldier, seasoned hard.\\nBest and bravest in the armies\\nWhich the immortal city guard.\\nQuickly turns he to his henchman,\\nEnobarbus, standing by,\\nSave me yonder savage fellow:\\nBy the gods, he shall not die!\\nRome has need of such, I tell you.\\nSince she breeds us men no more\\nHe shall lead my foreign legion.\\nHelp to guard our eastern door.\\n50", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "A ROMAN CAPTIVE\\nStraight a hundred steel-clad soldiers,\\nHelmets gleaming in the sun,\\nEnter by the farther gate\\nAnd cross the arena at the run.\\nMoving with unique precision,\\nEvery spear head in a line,\\nEach man s shoulder to his fellows\\nWith a touch exact and fine.\\nPick of many a Roman province,\\nPride of many a ravaged home,\\nPearl of many a savage mother,\\nNot a single man from Rome\\nAnd the Roman plebs run howling,\\nScattering before the troops.\\nAs the rats from the Cloaca\\nScamper when the night-owl swoops.\\nThus, they scramble o er the barriers\\nNot a frightened vv^retch remains\\nSo the rats from the Cloaca\\nSeized with panic seek their drains.\\nThen the ponderous gate swings open.\\nClosing with a thunder sound\\nEmpty stands the wide arena\\nWith the blood upon the ground.\\nAll is ended and the savage?\\nO, his bones unburied lie\\nOn the burning sands of Egypt\\nThere he died for Anthony.\\n51", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "A STRAY DOG\\nAMASTERLESS dog stands in the street,\\nAnd shrinks in the icy blast,\\nAs the pitiless night is closing in,\\nAnd the snow goes drifting past.\\nHe looks in your eyes for a kindly glance\\nAnd speaks as you pass the place.\\nWith a humble wag of a drooping tail.\\nAnd a sad, beseeching face.\\nHe comes to your heels at a gentle word,\\nAnd follows you mile by mile\\nPatient, persistent, full of hopes\\nAnd pleads to you all the while.\\nOnly take me and own me\\nI starve in this cruel town.\\nWatching your face with anxious eyes,\\nHe follows you up and down.\\nOnly take me and own me:\\nFor food and a place to lie,\\nI ll love you as only a dog can love,\\nAnd be true to you till I die.\\nYou may spurn me, abuse me, strike me,\\nAnd I ll trust you just the same.\\nFor I ll lick your hand and forgive at once,\\nWith never a thought of blame.\\nOnly take me and own me,\\nAnd I ll follow you to the end\\nWith a faith that passes all human faith\\nFor a dog is the truest friend.\\n52", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "PRAYER OF THE WOUNDED DERVISH\\nTo understand everything is to forgive everything.\\nGOD, hear my prayer\\nFor the desert air,\\nAnd the weight of a sword in my hand.\\nAnd the deep long bass of the galloping hoofs,\\nStriking chords on the quivering sand.\\nIn my fevered sleep,\\nI can hear their sweep,\\nIt is music s lowest note\\nIt goes thundering by.\\nWith a wild, shrill cry\\nFrom each black-bearded throat.\\nGod, grant me the sight\\nOf the turbans white,\\nAnd the faces brown and brave.\\nAnd the sun s fierce flash from the lance s heads\\nWhen the prophet s standards wave,\\nAnd the scabbard clanks\\nOn the plunging flanks.\\nAnd the wild manes toss on high,\\nAnd the infidel s steel\\nDoth stagger and reel\\nLet me charge once more for my God and die.\\n53", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "THE DREYFUS CASE\\nAND is wrong safer, then, for France than right?\\nAnd are Ues more expedient than truth?\\nDare she now turn her back upon the Hght\\nAnd stride away into the trackless night,\\nLeaving behind her conscience, justice, ruth?\\nWhen countless German hosts her frontiers crossed,\\nAnd broke her regiments and bent her will,\\nAnd breathless France was left to count the cost,\\nBlood, treasure, lands, and all but honor lost,\\nWe sorrowed with her, reverenced her still.\\nWill France now part forever from her past?\\nShall her great dead in vain their voices send\\nDown the long centuries, like a bugle blast\\nHeard from afar in battle, when men cast\\nAway base fear and die Is this the end\\nNever For justice will not be suppressed\\nImmortal Truth, though smitten deep, shall rise.\\nAbove her foes shall rear her shining crest.\\nAnd, striking fear to every guilty breast.\\nShall stand alone beneath the eternal skies.\\nIll i |THE DREYFUS CASE\\nAWAKE, awake, France, from the deep\\nAnd guardless slumbers of the night!\\nStill footsteps to your chamber creep.\\nAnd coward hands that murder sleep.\\nBut shrink in fear before the light.\\n54", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "THE DREYFUS CASE\\nFalse visions whispering at your ear\\nThe lying dreams that shun the day\\nBefore the dawning sharp and clear\\nShall vanish in their formless fear,\\nAnd, in the sunshine, melt away.\\nUp from your slumbers, undismayed\\nThe traitors by your portals stand:\\nArms ever for your hands were made\\nThe scabbard and the shining blade\\nStrike, then, the foes within your land.\\nTear off the veil from naked fact\\nThe army, that you set so high.\\nMust be of honest men compact\\nSoldiers unstained in heart and act\\nYou cannot conquer with a lie.\\nON DEVIL S ISLAND\\nCAST out of France like a tainted thing,\\nThrust in a den like a beast of prey.\\nLoaded with insults that soil and sting.\\nWhy should I suffer the light of day?\\nHeart that is broken with grief of shame.\\nSoul that is bitter with sense of wrong\\nWhy should I linger to bear the blame?\\nHope is dead I have waited long.\\nWhy should I ponder and weep and rage.\\nEat out my heart, when I have a friend\\nDeath will not shrink from this shameful cage\\nOnly to call him and then the end.\\n55", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "ON DEVIL S ISLAND\\nCurse them Never I shall not quail\\nWhat is a lifetime It s but a span.\\nGreat is truth, and it shall prevail;\\nSuicide is for the guilty man.\\nOLD AGE\\nHAT though the sun be stooping toward the west,\\nThe evening is the time of peace and rest.\\nTo-morrow s sun may bring a happier day;\\nAnd with the night comes sleep and sleep is bless d.\\nw\\nGREECE\\nOLD songs of shining southern lands,\\nOf Argo and the golden fleece.\\nOf hollow ships and yellow sands,\\nAnd long oars, tugg d by heroes hands,\\nRise in our minds at thought of Greece.\\nWe see the column s stately row\\nBefore the temple on the height;\\nWe hear the solemn music s flow\\nRise from the theater below,\\nRing d with the marble benches white.\\nAnd, yet again, we think of thee\\nAnd lo a small, devoted band.\\nBetween a great rock and the sea.\\nTo keep the Grecian people free,\\nMaking its hopeless, deathless stand.\\n56", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "GREECE\\nAnd, when the dreadful fight is o er,\\nThe unequal battle lost and won,\\nNo Greek is living on the shore;\\nTheir homes shall welcome them no more;\\nThey died in arms. The sea moans on.\\nAh, people, wonderful in peace!\\nOnce more, make living marble glow\\nThe treasures of the world increase\\nStrive to revive the art of Greece,\\nAnd let the Pyrrhic phalanx go.\\nSALAMIS\\n(Themistocles Harangues the Greeks.)\\nSAILORS of Hellas and warriors See the fell Per-\\nsian before you.\\nMighty his ships are and numerous, swift with their\\nthree banks of rowers.\\nAnd their great sails are uplifted by hundreds; they\\nthrong the horizon.\\nThough ye be few, be not timorous know that the gods\\nare among you\\nTheseus is with you and Hercules, and the great god-\\ndess Athene;\\nNike alights on your galley prows, folding her pinions\\nvictorious.\\nPull on the braces with vigor, and swing the long yards\\nto the north wind\\nLet your ships rush through the billows, and turn their\\nbronze beaks on the foemen.\\nStriking them down like hawks that swoop on a covey of\\npartridge.\\n57", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "SALAMIS\\nFit your long shafts to the bow strings, and see that your\\nspears are beside you\\nNow is the hour, it has struck, when the fate of your\\nland is decided.\\nHo Is it blood on the waters, or is it the fires of the\\nsunrise\\nENGLAND AND THE TRANSVAAL\\nPAUSE and think, England. England, pause and\\nthink.\\nLet no mad outcry force you to the fight.\\nStop, while you can, upon the fatal brink.\\nThink upon ruth and conscience think on right.\\nUse not your mighty strength in cause unjust\\nCrush not a nation s life beneath your heel\\nLest the bright armor of your honor rust,\\nAnd stains of wrong deface its burnished steel.\\nSheathe the sword, England. England, sheathe the\\nsword.\\nThink on your own fierce struggles to be free,\\nWhich roll d a king s head on the scafifold board\\nAnd drove another king beyond the sea.\\nFound not a giant empire upon wrong,\\nOr by the God of justice over all.\\nWho giveth not the battle to the strong,\\nNor peace to the oppressor it shall fall.\\n58", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "COURAGE.\\nCALM courage can erase the blot from shame\\nAnd grave on honor s shield the meanest name\\nCan stay an army s thunderous tread alone,\\nExalt a slave unto an emperor s throne,\\nComfort the damned wretch behind his bars\\nOr lift the martyr d soul above the stars.\\nTO THE NATIVE SOLDIERS IN INDIA\\n(August, 1897.)\\nIn limbering up a wheel the mule was shot, but Havil-\\ndar Amardin ran back under fire and picked up both\\nwheels, seventy-two pounds each, and started to rejoin\\nthe battery. He was shot dead and the wheels were not\\nrecovered. Cruickshank s orderly picked up a gun\\nweighing 200 pounds single-handed and carried it to the\\ngun mule. Then he went back and brought in Lieuten-\\nant Cruickshank s body. Morning Paper.\\nOH, men v/ho draw the English pay\\nAnd wear the English uniform.\\nBeyond the dawning of the day,\\nNeath sunburnt skins your blood runs warm.\\nSikhs and Pathans, we see you mass\\nWe see your polished bayonets shine;\\nWe hear your guns ring up the pass,\\nSipahis of the British line.\\nThe noise of battle in the hills\\nAcross the world has reached us here.\\nWhere death in rattling volleys kills.\\nWe re proud to know you know not fear.\\n59", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "DUTY\\n[To the memory of Lieutenant Mclntyre and twelve\\nmen of the Northamptonshire Regiment who met death\\nwhile endeavoring to save the wounded of the regiment\\nduring the retreat from the Saran-Sar Mountain in\\nnorthern India in November, 1897.]\\nJUST a report of duty done,\\nOf men who shielded their helpless friends\\nFrom the hillman s knife and his ambushed gun\\nTill the fight was finished and rest was won\\nIn a death which all amends.\\nOnly a dozen Northampton men,\\nLed by a beardless sub\\nBut they faced the tribes in that mountain glen,\\nLike a lioness roaring in her den,\\nAs she licks her wounded cub.\\nAnd many a dear old dame will cry,\\nIn her cottage facing an English lane,\\nNever, never to say good-by\\nAh but they taught us the way to die\\nThey have not died in vain.\\n60", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "THERE S SOMETHING IN THE ENGLISH\\nAFTER ALL\\nI\\nI VE been meditating lately that, when everything is\\ntold,\\nThere s something in the English after all:\\nThey may be too bent on conquest and too greedy after\\ngold,\\nBut there s something in the English after all\\nThough their sins and faults are many (and I won t ex-\\nhaust my breath\\nBy endeavoring to tell you of them all),\\nYet they have a sense of duty, and they ll face it to the\\ndeath\\nSo there s something in the English after all.\\nII\\nIf you re wounded by a savage foe and bugles sound\\nretire,\\nThere s something in the English after all\\nYou may bet your life they ll carry you beyond the zone\\nof fire,\\nFor there s something in the English after all\\nYes, although their guns be empty, and their blood be\\nebbing fast.\\nAnd to stay by wounded comrades be to fall,\\nYet they ll set their teeth like bulldogs and protect you\\nto the last.\\nOr they ll die, like English soldiers, after all.\\n61", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "THERE S SOMETHING IN THE ENGLISH\\nIII\\nIf you re ever on a sinking ship, O, then, I KNOW\\nyou ll find\\nThat there s something in the English after all:\\nThere s no panic rush for safety, where the weak are left\\nbehind,\\n(For there s something in the English after all),\\nBut the women and the children are the first to leave the\\nwreck.\\nWith the crew in line, as steady as a wall,\\nAnd the Captain is the last to stand upon the reeling\\ndeck;\\nSo there s something in the English after all.\\nIV\\nIt was shown at Balaklava, in the face of all the world,\\nThere was something in the English after all.\\nWhen, down that dreadful valley s length, six hundred\\nriders hurled,\\nWhile on the air, yet rang the bugle call.\\nNot a second s hesitation, though the Russian cannons\\nbreath\\nNever ceased to shake the battle s dusky pall.\\nTrot: gallop: charge! and, through their smoke,\\nthey vanished into death\\nFor you can t touck British cavalry at all.\\n62", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "THERE S SOMETHING IN THE ENGLISH\\nV\\nIt was proven at Trafalgar, even ere the fight began\\nThere was something in the Enghsh after all;\\nWhen, at dawn of day, from ship to ship, that simple\\nmessage ran\\nWhich reaches British hearts the best of all\\nIt was no dramatic summoning to honor or the grave,\\nTo win immortal glory or to fall.\\nIt was England s call to duty which was signaled o er the\\nwave.\\nAnd that signal won the victory after all.\\nVI\\nThough the half of Europe hates them, and would joy\\nin their decHne,\\nYet there s something in the English after all\\nEven those who hate them most, respect the thin red\\nBritish line,\\nYes, and fear their scant battalions after all\\nFor they know that, from the Colonel to the drummer in\\nthe band.\\nThere is not a single soldier in them all\\nBut would go to blind destruction, were their country to\\ncommand,\\nAnd just call it, simply\u00e2\u0080\u0094 DUTY, after all.\\n63", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "SOCRATES\\n(A Fragment.)\\nANOTHER roll left at my door which says:\\nCease to offend those who are human still\\nWith thy pretended virtue, or thou diest.\\nThis is the fifth found there within a month,\\nUnsigned, and writ each in a different hand.\\nAnd so, poor fools, they threaten me with death,\\nWhy, not since I grew beard have I feared death,\\nKnowing it must inevitably come\\nTo all alike after a few short years\\nSo brief a space that when men pass away\\nIt hardly seems that they have lived at all\\nA second in the innumerable hours\\nWhich stretch forever toward eternity.\\nEnough of this. Time passes, and I waste\\nIts moments musing thus. To other things.\\n64", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "CALIPH\\n(A True Story.)\\nTHAT is the horse, sir, that brought us from Clav-\\nering,\\nClear to North Crossing hill, level and rock\\nNinety-eight miles without checking or wavering,\\nHoofs beating time like the tick of a clock..\\nSweet little Mary^ the child of my brother,\\n(He fell, sir, at Vicksburg, the first of the brave)\\nHated by her she d been taught to call mother,\\nWas pining and fading away to the grave\\nAnd so, when I heard how the woman was treating her\\nPoor little atom, as good as the day\\nBreaking her spirit, abusing and beating her,\\nI swore on the Bible I d fetch her away;\\nAnd, taking the fastest young horse in my stable.\\nAnd that, sir, was Caliph, the same that you see.\\nKeeping it dark, sir, the best I was able,\\nI hung round their farm for a fortnight, may be\\nAnd, at last, after hiding and watching and waiting,\\nOne gloomy spring morning, I met, by God s grace.\\nAs I walked through the meadows, while Caliph was\\nbaiting,\\nA poor little child, with a scar on her face.\\n65", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "CALIPH\\nNO, SIR! It wasn t the mark of a tumble,\\nBut a cruel straight weal, from the blow of a whip,\\nStruck with a force which would make a horse stumble,\\nCutting- the flesh from the hair to the lip.\\nShe d some primroses grasped in her thin little hand,\\nFor all children love flowers, sir the sweets to the\\nsweet\\nI d a lump in my throat, when I saw the child stand.\\nWith her torn, shabby frock, and her small naked feet.\\nShe was timid at first, for ill usage had cowed her.\\nBut I gave her some candy, and coaxed her beside,\\nAnd ended by saying, Her mother allowed her\\nTo go with her uncle and take a long ride.\\nAnd it wasn t a lie she was watching with gladness\\nFor, in spite of all doubtings and darkness, I d rather\\nBelieve there s a place, beyond sinning and sadness.\\nWhere their angels behold still the face of the Father.\\nIn ten minutes, I had her aloft in the buggy,\\nLooking grateful and pleased, with a smile on her lip,\\nBundled up in my cloak, for twas chilly and muggy.\\nThen we flew down the road with a crack of the whip.\\nThere were men on the farm, and I knew they would\\nfollow,\\nWhen her step-mother found I had stol n her away.\\nBut I trusted to Caliph to beat em all hollow.\\nAnd the gallant black horse earned his pension that\\nday;\\n66", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "CALIPH\\nFor, all the day long, never stopping or staying,\\nHe went, swinging wide with his hoofs as he strode,\\nAnd, for ninety-eight miles, kept us rocking and sway-\\ning\\nAs he fled like a hound-driven stag down the road.\\nAnd, all the day long, as we spun o er the track,\\nI kept answering a small frightened voice, pleading\\nsore,\\nOh mother will beat me. Oh please take me back.\\nWith Please God, she shall never h^dXyou any more.\\nAnd Caliph, all spattered with mud and with foam,\\nEvery time that he heard her, grew swifter in stride,\\nAnd drove his black chest gainst the breast-collar home,\\nWith his sharp ears erect and his red nostrils wide.\\nAnd, mile after mile, he sped over the plain.\\nAnd, mile after mile, thundered over the stones,\\nAs we passed the long summit, the half frozen rain\\nCame, so icy and fierce, I was chilled to the bones\\nAnd still his black face fronted bravely the sleet,\\nAnd still his black shoulders were cleaving the wind.\\nAnd still, never ceasing, his steel-circled feet\\nWere beating, like hammers, the hard road behind.\\nWe were hunted by horsemen, I afterwards knew.\\nThrough the whole of that day, and far oni into night\\nAnd never a man of the cowardly crew.\\nThough they spurred and they galloped, could come\\nwithin sight.\\n67", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "CALIPH\\nBut, at evening he stumbled, and thrice almost fell.\\nAnd the breath from his nostrils came heavy and fast.\\nAnd the head he had held up so gallantly well\\nFrom the dawn to the sunset, was hanging at last.\\nAnd I knew, by the heave of his shuddering flank.\\nAll dank with his sweat, that the finish was nigh.\\nBy the quick catching wheeze, as his sides rose and\\nsank.\\nHe might swerve any minute, and stagger, and die.\\nThere was blood on the foam flakes which covered his\\nchest.\\nWhen I saw a gray surface, which gleamed in the\\nlight\\nThat was fast dying out in the darkening west,\\nAnd said, Courage, old man, there s the river in\\nsight.\\nThen he made his last effort, and swung down the slope,\\nTill a light showed out clear on the river s far shore.\\nWe were saved twas our beacon, the star of our hope\\nAnd the child was my child, from that time evermore.\\nThat s the horse, sir. God bless him! And now you\\nknow why\\nHe goes free as the wind in the sweet meadow grass.\\nAnd why he comes cantering up at my cry.\\nFor dear Mary to stroke his black face when we pass.\\n68", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "EGYPTIAN EMBALMER S SONG\\nWIND round, wind round, the mummy cloths wind\\nWind them round body, wind them round Umb\\nRound the tranquil head and the quiet form\\nTheir web is strong and soft and warm,\\nThe sleep will be deep and sweet and kind,\\nThe rest will be bless d to the resting* mind,\\nWind round, wind round, the mummy cloths wind,\\nRound resting body and resting Hmb.\\nEach entrail is sealed in its Canopic Vase\\nThrough the nostrils, with probes is extracted the\\nbrain\\nFilled with spices, for seventy days,\\nIn embalming natron, the body has lain.\\nNow, with bandages, smeared with clinging gums,\\nCarefully wind round the sleeping face\\nWith all sweet smelling and clinging gums,\\nEach upon each, with an equal space\\nPull with a steady and even hand\\n(They must keep in their place till the last great day)\\nWith an equal strain on each linen band,\\nAnd each fold in the same line hidden away.\\nWind round the body with equal care\\nWith equal patience wind round each limb\\nPut in the packet of rich black hair,\\nAnd the papyrus roll with its prayer and hymn.\\n69", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "EGYPTIAN EMBALMER S SONG\\nBring the narrower strips, which we have in store\\nFor the wrist and the hand and each finger and\\nthumb\\nNow, over the whole, wind one layer more\\nOne layer more, and our labour s done.\\nIn his mummy case, with its human face,\\nSmoothed and gilded and richly dyed.\\nPictured with prayers in, every space.\\nAnd with judgment scenes upon every side,\\nHe will sleep in the dark in: his rock-cut halls\\nWith his sword and his dagger beside him laid\\nAnd the painted forms on the sculptured walls\\nThrough a thousand ages will scarcely fade.\\nSet the food and the wine in the outermost tomb\\nWhen he wakes from death, he must find them there\\nWith the perfumed garments, fresh from the loom,\\nAnd the combs and the oils for anointing his hair,\\nAnd the things which, in lifetime, he treasured the best,\\nHis harp, and the little gold figures of gods.\\nAnd the rich jeweled clasp which he wore on his breast.\\nAnd his bows and his arrows and throwing rods.\\nAnd the presents from wife and from children and friends^\\nOffered, with tears to the silent dead.\\nHe can give them no thanks till his slumbering ends.\\nAnd, when time is completed, he raises his head.\\nIn the knowledge that life is not severed, but stayed.\\nThat the dead shall arise and be ever blessed.\\nWith all things fit for his wakening made\\nThe Egyptian leaves his loved friend to rest.", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "A BALLAD\\nHE is coming, he is coming-,\\nI can hear the music shrill\\nOf his Highland pipers screaming\\nRound the shoulder of the hill\\nHe is coming, he is coming,\\nWith his troop of gallant lads,\\nI can see the sunshine streaming\\nOn the scarlet of the plaids\\nI can hear the voices humming,\\nAnd the tapping of the drum\\nO, my own true love is coming.\\nFor he said that he would come.\\nHe has swum the flooded rivers,\\nHe has climbed the rugged scaur,\\nHe has brought his horses by the path\\nMan never rode before,\\nHe has passed behind the ambush,\\nWhere their coward bullets hum\\nPlanned death, and come the only way\\nThey said he could not come.\\nAt the head of all the riders\\nI can see my bonny man.\\nThe truest heart in all the world\\nThe bravest in his clan.\\n71", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "A BALLAD\\nSo strong of body, keen of mind,\\nHe ll win whate er may hap\\nA soldier, from his horse s shoes\\nTo the feather in his cap.\\nNow, let the sentries call to arms,\\nThe portcullis rattle down\\nThe plaided warriors swarm beneath\\nEnough to take a town\\nThey have brought two long brass cannon,\\nAnd, ere the stars do glow,\\nShall toast their leader s Lowland bride\\nIn the banquet hall below.\\nTHE MASTER S FRIEND\\nTHE Master must to a distant land,\\nWith a foreign foe to fight,\\nAnd the Master s wife was glad of it,\\nBut she hid her false delight,\\nAnd came to him with a tearful face,\\nAnd begged of him to stay,\\nBut the Master s hound was sorry,\\nAnd it went and it hid away.\\nThe Master s ship from the harbor s mouth\\nBeat out to the stormy sea,\\nAnd his wife stayed late at my lady s ball\\nRejoicing to be free\\nThey said she shone like a jewel there.\\nAnd she heard it with delight\\nBut she could not sleep for the Master s hound,\\nFor it howled through the live-long night.", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "THE MASTER S FRIEND\\nThe Master died He was shot to death\\nIn that land beyond the sea\\nAnd they brought his body home, to he\\nIn a grave by the cypress tree\\nAnd the Master s widow hid her face,\\nAnd made beheve she cried;\\nBut the Master s hound stayed by his grave,\\nTill it starved to death\\nAnd died.\\nON THE ROAD TO KIMBERLEY\\n(Marching Song.)\\nWE are marching to relieve you,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\nHonor will not let us leave you,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\nSeven thousand men in khaki\\nGunners, horse and foot but, hark ye\\nDo you know the price we re paying?\\nCecil Rhodes, Cecil Rhodes?\\nAll the lives and all the treasure,\\nCecil Rhodes?\\nDo you hear the rifles calling,\\nCecil Rhodes?\\nBrave and honest men are falling,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\n73", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "ON THE ROAD TO KIMBERLEY\\nBursting shell and shrapnel flying,\\nStrew the earth with dead and dying.\\nDo you think that you are worth it,\\nCecil Rhodes, Cecil Rhodes?\\nIs their blood upon your conscience,\\nCecil Rhodes?\\nWe have broken their defenses,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\nWe have swept them from the trenches,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\nBut at fearful cost we bought them,\\nBreast to bayonet we fought them,\\nThey were fighting for their country,\\nCecil Rhodes, Cecil Rhodes.\\nThey are dying for their freedom,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\nThere are many graves a-making,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\nThere ll be smitten hearts a-breaking,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\nThere ll be bitter, hopeless sorrow\\nIn full many a home to-morrow,\\nWhen they read the news in England,\\nCecil Rhodes, Cecil Rhodes.\\nAnd the lists of killed and wounded,\\nCecil Rhodes.\\n74", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "FALSE PROPHETS\\nDIVINE DESTINY IN THE PHILIPPINES\\n[Dedicated to a few preachers of the Christian rehgion.\\nMAN of God, for very shame,\\no\\nBe silent dare not to invoke\\nIn murder s cause God s holy name\\nLest thou his wrath provoke.\\nThou was t anointed, priest, to preach\\nA holy creed of peace and love.\\nAnd power was given thee, to teach\\nMen to forgive, as God above.\\nThou usest it to make men worse\\nThou helpest hell with things sublime,\\nTurning God s blessing to a curse,\\nAnd quoting Christ to bolster crime.\\nBy calling wholesale slaughter love,\\nThink st thou to blind the Omniscient s eyes,\\nDost dare to send thy prayers above\\nTo dupe the Almighty the Allwise?\\nDost dare Christ s gentle words to weave\\nWith conquest s cruel deeds of blood;\\nSo hopes the savage to deceive\\nHis idol, made of mud.\\nWe laymen read our Bible too,\\nAnd there s a text within it I\\nRemember well, of such as you\\nProphets who falsely prophesy.\\n75", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "FALSE PROPHETS\\nThough conscience may be dulled and seared.\\nYet God will have each man repent,\\nSo there are judgments to be feared\\nAnd sudden bolts of justice sent.\\nCease, thou, the Omnipotent to brave,\\nLest swift and sure his vengeance fall\\nFor it is certain as the grave\\nHis punishments shall come to all.\\nAGUINALDO\\n(PATRIOT AND EMPIRE)\\nWHEN arms and numbers both have failed\\nTo make the hunted patriot yield,\\nNor proffered riches have prevailed\\nTo tempt him to forsake the field,\\nBy spite and baffled rage beguiled,\\nStrike at his mother and his child.\\nO land where freedom loved to dwell,\\nWhich shook st the despot on his throne.\\nAnd o er the beating fioods of hell\\nHope s beacon to the world hast shown,\\nHow art thou fallen from thy place\\nO thing of shame O foul disgrace\\nThy home was built upon the height\\nAbove the murky clouds beneath\\nIn the blue heaven s freest light,\\nThy sword flashed ever from its sheath.\\nThe weak and the oppressed to save\\nTo smite the tyrant free the slave.\\n76", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "PATRIOT AND EMPIRE\\nThy place was glorious sublime.\\nWhat devil tempts thee to descend\\nTo conquest, robbery and crime?\\nO shameful fate! Is this the end?\\nThy hands have now the damning stain\\nOf human blood for love of gain.\\nWith weak hypocrisy s thin veil,\\nSeek not in vain to blind thine eyes\\nNor shall deceitful prayers prevail.\\nPray not for fear the dead should rise\\nFrom neath their conquered country s sod\\nAnd cry against thee unto God.\\nDAYBREAK\\nScatter thou the people that delight in war.\\nWAR is murder war is hell\\nStripped of all its tinsel sham\\nEvery outrage words can tell,\\nEvery evil sin can cram,\\nBlood and misery and flame.\\nEarth s worst curse and manhood s shame.\\nTrick the assassins out in lace;\\nShout for fame with all your might;\\nAll I see a grinning face\\nJust a skull a horrid sight.\\nGlory, with his cruel eyes,\\nIs but murder in disguise.\\n77", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "DAYBREAK\\nMen who war are wicked fools,\\nDancing when perdition pipes,\\nSneering Satan s idiot tools,\\nLiveried in his braid and stripes.\\nHark! the sonorous cannon s breath,\\nDrumming for the dance of death.\\nCheers for murder! On they go\\nMadmen, all with frantic cries\\nDancing in a frenzied row,\\nLust of slaughter in their eyes,\\nAll the fiends of hell at large\\nIn a tearing bayonet charge.\\nSee the dancers splashed with blood\\nLook upon its crimson stains,\\nPouring in an endless flood\\nMangled bodies, scattered brains,\\nShattered bones and entrails fresh,\\nRipped from living, quivering flesh.\\nWounded men, a ghastly host.\\nMoan and die, or gasp and bleed,\\nWhile the fool who s killed the most\\nThinks he s done a noble deed.\\nDeems his murders cause for pride\\nWretched, guilty homicide.\\nRaise the bright triumphal arch\\nCrown him with a wreath of bays\\nLet him lead the victor s march\\nThrough the cheering, crowded ways\\nPraise and honors on him rain.\\nShout your loudest Hail to Cain\\n78", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "DAYBREAK\\nBut for sadness I could laugh,\\nSeeing free men duped like this\\nWretched victims, caught with chaff,\\nSent to meet death s charnel kiss,\\nTaught that blood and crime are glory.\\nFooled by such a devil s story.\\nTrained to murder, cool and vile\\nFoulest crime beneath the sun\\nShipped in transports, marched in file.\\nTold they re heroes every one;\\nThus they outrage God and die.\\nStill believing in the lie.\\nKnow you why the lie is told?\\nWhy is murder called sublime\\nSure tis for the love of gold\\nGold s a cause for every crime\\nSoldiers, when they fight and bleed,\\nSatisfy the trader s greed.\\nMammon, wicked, cunning, wise.\\nSits at home and pulls the strings.\\nView him with adoring eyes\\nPowers and potentates and kings\\nSpeak of him with bated breath.\\nSending hosts of fools to death.\\nPeople, tis the dawn. Awake\\nSound the reveille sublime\\nSlay no more for Mammon s sake\\nBe not flattered into crime\\nBranded with the stamp of Cain,\\nThat the rich may riches gain.\\n79", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "HYMN OF THE LORD S PRAYER\\nO FATHER of us all in heaven,\\nMost holy be Thy name.\\nThy kingdom come. Thy will be done,\\nIn earth and heaven the same.\\nGive us this day our daily bread.\\nForgive our sins this day,\\nAs we forgive each other s sins,\\nFather in heaven we pray.\\nAnd lead us not where sins assail,\\nBut in temptation s hour\\nSave us for Thine the kingdom is,\\nThe glory and the power.\\n80", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "JONATHAN PAUSES TO THINK\\nI M a little less reminded of the old colonial days,\\nWhen we fought with British troops, and won our\\nfreedom in the fight;\\nSeems to me this Transvaal question s entering on\\nanother phase;\\nThere are lots of men who re fighting now from\\njealousy and spite.\\nThere are Frenchmen planning trenches in a scientific\\nway;\\nThere are German gunners training guns on soldiers\\nof the queen;\\nEvery army corps in Europe has its soldiers there today\\nNow, I honor open warfare, but I call such plotting\\nmean;\\nFor the burghers have a right to shoot and, gad, they\\nring the bell\\nIt reminds me of Thermopylae and what I learnt at\\nschool\\nBut I don t support these foreigners who re joining in as\\nwell.\\nIs it cause they love the eternal right? Not much!\\nI m not a fool\\n81", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "JONATHAN PAUSES TO THINK\\nIt s because they hate the EngHsh, who have bhiffed\\nthem all for years,\\nWho have parceled out the world and raised their flag\\nin every land\\nThey d have grabbed their empire long ago but for their\\nprudent fears\\nNow they seize the opportunity to strike them under-\\nhand.\\nThe Boers are sterling patriots and he wins undying\\nfame\\nWho dies to serve his country but I change my point\\nof view\\nWhen I read of British of^cers, marked down and shot\\nlike game,\\nJust because they re Anglo-Saxons, by a continental\\ncrew.\\nIn the temple of enlightenment each nation has its place\\nEvery people serves its purpose on the Architect s\\ngreat plan;\\nBut the buttress of the building is the Anglo-Saxon race\\nAnd, I say, the man who hates it is an enemy to man.\\nThey may plot and strike at England till they bring her\\nto earth\\nThey may sink her giant navy they may storm her\\nocean walls;\\nThey may wreck the little island where the fathers\\nhad their birth,\\nBut the whole wide world shall cry aloud and reel\\nwhen England falls.\\n82", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3503", "width": "2139", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3545", "width": "2097", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "A M F\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0,0 OTHER POEMS-\\nRi~RTRANr iADWELL", "height": "3659", "width": "2243", "jp2-path": "americaotherpoem00shad_0104.jp2"}}