To England at the Outbreak of the Balkan War
A cloud has lowered that shall not soon pass o’er.The world takes sides: whether for impious aimsWith Tyranny whose bloody toll enflamesA generous people to heroic war;Whether with Freedom, stretched in her own gore,Whose pleading hands and suppliant distressStill offer hearts that thirst for RighteousnessA glorious cause to strike or perish for.England, which side is thine? Thou hast had sonsWould shrink not from the choice however grim,Were Justice trampled on and Courage downed;Which will they be—cravens or champions?Oh, if a doubt intrude, remember himWhose death made Missolonghi holy ground.
At the Tomb of Napoleon Before the Elections in America—November, 1912
I stood beside his sepulchre whose fame,Hurled over Europe once on bolt and blast,Now glows far off as storm-clouds overpastGlow in the sunset flushed with glorious flame.Has Nature marred his mould? Can Art acclaimNo hero now, no man with whom men sideAs with their hearts’ high needs personified?There are will say, One such our lips could name;Columbia gave him birth. Him Genius mostGifted to rule. Against the world’s great manLift their low calumny and sneering criesThe Pharisaic multitude, the hostOf piddling slanderers whose little eyesKnow not what greatness is and never can.