Germinal
(The last word of Angiolillo.)
Germinal!—The Field of Mars is plowing,And hard the steel that cuts, and hot the breathOf the great Oxen, straining flanks and bowingBeneath his goad, who guides the share of Death.
Germinal!—The Dragon’s teeth are sowing,And stern and white the sower flings the seedHe shall not gather, though full swift the growing;Straight down Death’s furrow treads, and does not heed.
Germinal!—The Helmet Heads are springingFar up the Field of Mars in gleaming files;With wild war notes the bursting earth is ringing.
Within his grave the sower sleeps, and smiles.
=London=, October, 1897.
“Light Upon Waldheim”
(The figure on the monument over the grave of the Chicago martyrs inWaldheim Cemetery is a warrior woman, dropping with her left hand acrown upon the forehead of a fallen man just past his agony, andwith her right drawing a dagger from her bosom.)
Light upon Waldheim! And the earth is gray;A bitter wind is driving from the north;The stone is cold, and strange cold whispers say:“What do ye here with Death? Go forth! Go forth!”
Is this thy word, O Mother, with stern eyes,Crowning thy dead with stone-caressing touch?May we not weep o’er him that martyred lies,Slain in our name, for that he loved us much?
May we not linger till the day is broad?Nay, none are stirring in this stinging dawn—None but poor wretches that make no moan to God:What use are these, O thou with dagger drawn?
“Go forth, go forth! Stand not to weep for these,Till, weakened with your weeping, like the snowYe melt, dissolving in a coward peace!”Light upon Waldheim! Brother, let us go!
=London=, October, 1897.