Mary Hannay Foott: Verses about Steel Arms

Devotion! When thy name is named,
What matchless visions rise!
The Hebrew, leaving Pharoah's house,
To Israel's rescue flies;
The Moabitess, gleans, content,
Beneath the burning skies.

The flower of Christendom is given
To gain the Holy Grave;
O'er Acre and o'er Askelon
The blessed banners wave;
By Edward's bed I see thee kneel,
O Queen beloved and brave!

Who art thou, girl, in warrior garb,
St. Catherine's sword in hand?
'Tis La Pucelle, and France is free;
O shame that thou must stand
Bound, helpless, at the cruel stake,
To wait the headman's brand!

And now upon the wild North Sea
From Lindisfarne's bleak shore,
To save the lives of shipwrecked men
A maiden plies the oar;
Seamen and landsmen honour thee,
Grace Darling, evermore!

And swifter, closer, as I muse,
The splendid spectres loom;
And stately stands among them one
To glory passed from gloom,
But late, by waters of the Nile,
In walls of lost Khartoum!

Thou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing
From me; and thou wast wounded very sore,
And beaten down, O son of Israel's king,
Like wheat on threshing-flour.

Thou, that from courtly and from wise for friend
Didst choose me, and in spite of ban and sneer,
Rebuke and ridicule, until the end
Didst ever hold me dear!

All night thy body on the mountain lay:
At morn the heathen nailed thee to their wall.
Surely their deaf gods hear the songs to-day
O'er the slain House of Saul!

Oh! if that witch were here thy father sought,
Methinks I e'en could call thee from thy place,
To shift thy mangled image from my thought,
Seeing thy soul's calm face.

I sorrowed for the words the prophet spoke,
That set me rival to thy father's line;
But o'er thy spirit no repining broke
For what had else been thine.

Thou wast not like to me, so rude, so hot;
The world was not in thine, as in my sight,
Like the proud giant who from Israel sought
A champion to fight.

I thought to ask, nor looked to be denied,
Of God, that in my days there might ascend
His House; not from my hands, so redly dyed,
But thine, pure-hearted friend.

My friend, within God's House thou dwellest now;
Thy wounds are healed, thou need'st no Gilead-balm;
Defeated and degraded, yet thy brow
Is crowned, with death and calm.

O God, this is Thy black and bitter sea
Which buffets so and blinds my struggling soul:
Out of the depths I cry, O God, to Thee,
Whose grief-waves o'er me roll.

God give to me the spirit that was his,
The patience, that he needs no more to blend
With the wild eagerness that mars my bliss;
I would be like my friend.

Through the dark valley soon, to where he stands,
God summon me! Till then the sword shall shine
That comes from his dead grasp into my hands:
His children be as mine!

Mother of Him we call the Christ,
No halo round thy brows we paint,
Incense and prayer we offer not,
Nor mind to title thee as saint.

And yet, no woman's name, of all
With honour from the ages sent,
Mary, is aureoled like thine,
With love and grief and glory blent!

Oh wisely was it that He chose,
Who the unwritten future reads,
To teach the after-world, through thee,
What cherishers Messiah needs.

Thou heard'st the angel's prophecy,
The tidings which the shepherds brought,
Anna and Simeon praising God,
And saw'st that star the Wise Men sought!

Ah, who of us could bear, like thee,
With meekness, God's triumphal light;
Then, still believing, with His Charge,
At midnight take an exile's flight?

Throughout the Son's long helplessness
His good was to thine own preferred;
May we so serve; and still, like Thee,
Stand back to let His voice be heard!

Dispenser once of earthly things,
Thy Best-Beloved thou didst see;
God's hands for others blessing-full,
Could we be poor and glad like thee?

Soul-pierced with sword-like agony,
Not felon's taunt nor soldier's jest;
Beside the God-forsaken Cross,
Could drive thee from it like the rest.

Christ's banner thou alone didst hold
In face of all His foes displayed;
Valiant through all defeat, and but
Heart-stricken that He was betrayed.

Ah, Mary! Could we stand, like thee,
Steadfast; and watch the vowed depart;
And grieve for their defection less
Than for the Saviour's wounded heart?

How must the God, who favour set
On David once and kingly Saul,
And yet foresaw their wanderings,
And loved them through and after all

How must He seal the prophecy,
Declaring thee forever blest,
Whose whole life showed thy worthiness
Of that pure Child thine arms had pressed!

O single-hearted one to kiss
The lifeless and dishonored head,
Fondly as when its baby brow,
By angel wings was canopied!

O self-forgetful, to rejoice
For that Heaven's entrance had been found
By the Beloved: thou content
Thenceforth, alone to close life's round!

In the bright future, sure, though far,
Again, as once, the wide air rings
With praise to Christ! Thy vigil ends,
Meek daughter of a hundred kings!

Virgin, may we partake thy joy,
When Heaven and loyal earth shall lay
At the pierced feet of David's son
A crown He will not put away!

The sunlight from the sky is swept,
But, over Snowdon's summit kept,
One brand of cloud yet burns,
By ghostly hands far out of sight,
Held, glowing, in the even-light,
As Fate still keeps the weapon bright
That lingers and returns.

- - - - - -

O day of slaughter! Day of woe!
But once, a thousand years ago,
Such day has Britain seen;
When blushed her hoary hills with shame
At Mona's sacrifice of flame;
While shrieks from out the burning came
Across the strait between.

Death-helping day! That couldst not find
One weeping cloud to hide behind!
Cursed day whose light was given
For search-mate to the Saxon sword
Through coverts that our rocks afford,
While Edward's godless minions poured
The blood of the unshriven!

- - - - - -

Ill fare we when the trees are rent,
Whose friendly shelter erst was lent
In sun, and wind, and rain.
Ill fare we when the thunder-shocks
Let loose the torrents from their rocks,
To sweep away the mountain-flocks,
And flood the standing grain.

But where the forest-giants groan,
By winds that waste the woods o'erthrown,
New saplings blithely spring!
Sank herd and harvest 'neath the tide?
There's bleating on the mountain-side;
O'er cornfields, ere the dew has dried
To-morrow's lark shall sing!

Sore sighs the land when she has need
The dragon-jaws of war to feed
With those who love her best;
And long shall Cambria's tears be shed
For him who late her armies led,
Llewellyn, whose dissevered head
The Saxon crowned in jest!

Yet, in their stead whose blood is spilt,
Newcomers seize the sword's warm hilt,
Or o'er it reach the ground!
Llewellyn! every night-watch drear
With grief for thee, brings morning near;
That morn when Arthur shall appear,
Once more our leader crowned!

But when the blood of bards is poured,
Who gathers their forgotten hoard
From memories sealed by fate?
What daring songster e'er shall soar
For us to Heaven's death-guarded door,
And tell thereafter of the store
That glimmers through the grate?

When Famine's empty hand is filled,
When years the shattered oaks rebuild,
Shall heroes spring again,
Brave spirits of the past to greet
Who rise at minstrel-summons sweet,
When bards the olden tales repeat
Of Britain's mighty slain?

Nay, by the harps our fathers heard
No more shall Britain's heart be stirred,
Lost is the ancient lore!
Spent is the breath of song, that fanned
Freedom's low fires! The bard's light hand,
Whose beckoning brought the martial band,
Shall seek the strings no more!

Sing us the Land of the Southern Sea,
The land we have called our own;
Tell us what harvest there shall be
From the seed that we have sown.

We love the legends of olden days,
The songs of the wind and wave;
And border ballads and minstrel lays,
And the poems Shakespeare gave,

The fireside carols and battle rhymes,
And romaunt of the knightly ring;
And the chant with hint of cathedral chimes,
Of him “made blind to sing.”

The tears they tell of our brethren wept,
Their praise is our fathers' fame;
They sing of the seas our navies swept,
Of the shrines that lent us flame.

But the Past is past, with all its pride,
And its ways are not our ways.
We watch the flow of a fresher tide
And the dawn of newer days.

Sing us the Isle of the Southern Sea,
The land we have called our own;
Tell us what harvest there shall be
From the seed that we have sown.

I see the Child we are tending now
To a queenly stature grown;
The jewels of empire on her brow,
And the purple round her thrown.

She feeds her household plenteously
From the granaries we have filled;
Her vintage is gathered in with glee
From the fields our toil has tilled.

The Old World's outcast starvelings feast,
Ungrudged, on her corn and wine;
The gleaners are welcome, from west and east,
Where her autumn sickles shine.

She clothes her people in silk and wool,
Whose warp and whose woof we spun;
And sons and daughters are hers to rule;
And of slaves, she has not one!

There are herds of hers on a thousand hills!
There are fleecy flocks untold?
No foreign conquest her coffer fills,
She has streams whose sands are gold!

She shall not scramble for falling crowns,
No theft her soul shall soil,
So rich in rivers, so dowered with downs,
She shall have no need of spoil!

But if, wronged or menaced, she shall stand
Where the battle-surges swell,
Be a sword from Heaven in her swarthy hand
Like the sword of La Pucelle!

If there be ever so base a foe
As to speak of a time-cleansed stain,
To say, “She was cradled long ago,
'Mid clank of the convict's chain.”

Ask, as the taunt in his teeth is hurled,
“What lineage sprang SHE from
Who was Empress, once, of the Pagan World
And the Queen of Christendom?”

When the toilsome years of her youth are o'er,
And her children round her throng;
They shall learn from her of the sage's lore,
And her lips shall teach them song.

Then of those in the dust who dwell,
May there kindly mention be,
When the birds that build in the branches tell
Of the planting of the tree

A little way farther to guide thee I go
Where the footing is firm and the waters are low;
Then we part, O my King, thou once more to thy throne,
I to dwell, in the house of my fathers, alone.

Yet think not, O David, one pang of regret
Would tempt the recall of the youth I have set
In thy presence; the strong-armed, the true-hearted one,
Last gift of my loyalty, even my son.

Ere my hand to the husbandman's toil had been trained,
Or my foot to the slow-moving flocks had been chained,
I, too, would have marched in the long line of spears,
With the youthful, the courtly, the brave for my peers.

The days when I dreamt but of battle! The lamp
Which all night I kept burning, that if from the camp
One straggler should come, I might, hang up his sword
And hearken how prospered the cause of the Lord!

How my heart used to beat; how my veins used to thrill
From freezing to fever, from fever to chill,
When the voice of the Philistine rang through our coasts,
Defying, unanswered, the Lord God of Hosts.

How I prayed day and night, ay, with many a tear,
“Lord, shorten the time till Thy champion appear!”
And if fearing or hoping myself to change blows
With the giant, God bidden, I know; and God knows!

Ah, it was not for gain, and it was not for fear,
That I wore not the warrior's glittering gear:
My father, my mother! the heart-strife was done!
For Saul had his thousands and they had but one.

I am old, but King David, I cannot forget
My hot-hearted youth; so my boy shall not fret
'Mid the safety and sameness of flocks and of fields
While the soldiers of Israel burnish their shields.

The Lord be thy keeper, henceforth and for aye,
My son whom I love! And when I am away
Be thy spirit as now, pure and lofty, and bold,
Thy strength still unwasted; thy heart never cold.

When thy soul with the minions of darkness must fight,
The Great King lend thee weapons and armour of light.
No hindrance are they, like the harness of Saul
To the boy from the folds. May'st thou bear them through all!

All blessings be thine which the promise foretells!
And, oh, when the heart of thy eldest born swells
At thy stories of many a soldierly deed,
Tell how one, not a soldier, served Israel in need.

The men are fast forming again into rank;
The river is forded; we part on the bank.
Haste where welcome awaiteth thee, David, this day,
For the joy of the people ill beareth delay!

The Lord give thy children the love-guarded crown,
When the King and his servant in dust have lain down!
Till the hope of the nations thy lineage shall close,
God's arrows be sharp in the hearts of thy foes!

'Twas brave De Quiros bent the knee before the King of Spain,
And “sire,” he said, “I bring thy ships in safety home again
From seas unsailed of mariner in all the days of yore,
Where reefs and islets, insect-built, arise from ocean's floor.
And, sire, the land we sought is found, its coasts lay full in view
When homeward bound, perforce, I sailed, at the bidding of my crew.
Terra Australis1 called I it; and linked therewith the name
Of Him who guideth, as of old, in cloud and starry flame.
And grant me ships again,” he said, “and southward let me go,
A new Peru may wait thee there, another Mexico.”

A threadbare suitor, year by year, “There is a land,” said he;
While King and Court grew weary of this old man of the sea;
For there were heretics to burn, and Holland to subdue,
And England to be humbled, (which this day remains to do,)
O land he named, but never saw, his memory revere!
The gallant disappointed heart, let him be honoured here!

Meanwhile the hardy Dutchmen came, as ancient charts attest,
Hartog, and Nuyts, and Carpenter, and Tasman, and the rest,
But found not forests rich in spice, nor market for their wares,
Nor servile tribes to toil o'ertasked 'mid pestilential airs,
And deemed it scarce worth while to claim so poor a continent,
But with their slumberous tropic isles thenceforward were content.

And then came Dampier, who, erewhile, upon the Spanish Main
For silver-laden galleons lurked, and great was his disdain,
Good ships, beside, from France were sent, good ships and gallant crews,
With Marion and D'Entrecasteaux and the far-famed La Perouse.
And still, of all who sought or saw, the voyages were vain,
Australia ne'er was farm for boers nor mission-field for Spain,
Nor fleur-de-lys nor tricolor was ever planted here,
And Britain's flag to hoist was not for hands of buccaneer.

But to our lovely Eastern coast, led by auspicious stars,
Came Cook, in the Endeavour, with his little band of tars,
Who straight on shores of Botany old England's ensign reared,
With mighty dim of musketry and noise of them that cheered.
And none of all his noble fleets who sixty years was king
A prize so goodly ever brought as that small ship did bring!

And who was he, the FIRST to find Australia passing fair?
One who aforetime well had served his country otherwhere:
Who to the heights of Abraham up the swift St. Lawrence led,
When on the moonless battle-eve the midnight oarsmen sped.
No worthier captain British deck before or since hath trod,
He “never feared the face of man,” but feared alway his God.
His crew he cherished tenderly, and kept his honour bright,
For with the helpless blacks he dealt as if they had been white.

A boy, erewhile, of lowly birth, self-taught, a poor man's son,
But a hero and a gentleman, if ever there was one!
And when at last, by savage hands, on wild Owyhee slain,
He left a deathless memory, a name without a stain!

'Tis but a hundred years ago, as nearly as may be,
Since good King George's vessel first anchored in Botany.
A hundred years! Yet, oh, how many changes there have been!
Unclasp thy volume, History, and say what thou hast seen.

“Old England and her colonies stand face to face as foes,
And now their orators inveigh, and now their armies close.”
In vain, our mother-land, for once thy sword is drawn in vain,
Allies and enemies alike, thy children are the slain.
Though, save as victor, never 'twas thy wont to quit the field,
Relenting filled thy valiant heart and thou wast fain to yield.
Ah, well for loss of those fair States might King and Commons mourn!
There lay, in south, a goodly bough from England's rose-tree torn!
But now how deep its roots have struck, how stately stands the stem,
How lovely on its branches leaf and flower and dewy gem!
New life from that sore severance to our sister-scion came,
God speed thee, young America, we glory in thy fame!

“The storm that shook the Western World now eastward breaks anew,
And, oh, how black the tempest is which blotteth out the blue!
And over thee, ill-fortuned France, what floods resistless roll,
A tidal wave of blood no pitying planet may control!

“Like Samson toiling blind and bound to furnish food for those
Who light withheld and liberty, and mocked at all his woes,
So have thy people held their peace, so laboured, so have borne
The burden serfdom ever bears, the sorrow and the scorn.
But as with groping giant-hands he seized the pillars twain
And made Philistia's land one house of mourning for the slain,
So rise they, frenzied, at the last, by centuries of wrong,
And wreak a vengeance dreadful as their sufferings have been long,
The vile Bastille is overthrown, the Monarchy lies low,
The fetters of the Feudal Age are broken at a blow!

“Of Poland parted for a prey dire Nemesis shall tell
When o'er the dead in Cracow's vault shall ring Oppression's knell!
Now Erin from her Sister-Isle awhile was fain to part,
For Strongbow's arrow rankled long within her wounded heart;
And long by desecrated fane and fireless hearth she wailed,
Where brutal Ireton's Herod-host their murderous pikes had trailed.
Here shine the names she holdeth dear; and prize them well she may,
Past soldiers of a Frankish prince, or peers of Castlereagh;
The gifted ones who pled for her 'gainst bigotry and pride,
The gallant ones who died for her when young Fitzgerald died!”

Enough, enough, forbear to trace the record of the age,
Where elder nations are inscribed, through each distressful page:

But hearken how, for once, at least, without an army's aid,
A people's lines the lines of her who holds the South, were laid!

Five thousand leagues of ocean 'twixt the old home and the new,
And lodging strait and scanty fare the weary voyage through.
And toil and hardship safely past, and crossed the perilous main,
Never to tread on English ground 'mid English friends again!
Yet men were found to dare it all, men, ay, and women too,
(Not only those exiled perforce, who oftimes rose anew,
Out-cast upon new earth, with hope, and heart, and vigour given,
By fresh surroundings, and His grace who bids the lost to Heaven),
The brave, the fair, the gently-born, and Labour's life-long thrall,
Within those circling seas of ours there was a place for all.

For patient hands the woods to fell, the new-formed fields to till,
The huts to build, the scanty flocks and herds to guard from ill.
For bolder spirits, to forsake the sea-board settlement,
And learn the secret of the land where never white man went,
Through mountain-pass, and forest dark, and wide unsheltered plain,
Through fiery heat of summer, and through frost, and flood, and rain,
Unheeding thirst, or hunger, or the shower of savage spears,
What soldiers e'er were braver than Australian pioneers?
What though it was by axe, and plough, and miner's oft-edged tool,
And tending sheep and kine through weary years, of hardship full,
The only victories we boast were by our fathers won?
The men who won them had prevailed where feats of arms were done!
Three generations born of her our Country now can tell,
And son, and sire, and grandsire, all in turn have served her well;
Not only with the sinewy arm, the hardened hand of toil,
That wrest their wealth from rifted rock and forest-cumbered soil,
By love of order and of law; by proferred boon to all
Of learning, in the township school and in the college hall;
By liberal leisure, well-bestowed, for sports of land and wave;
And by the faith preserved to us God to the Elders gave!

And now Britannia's household send her, greetings from beside
The icy streams of Canada, and islands scattered wide
Betwixt the two Americas, from Africa's sea-marge,
And where the race of Aurungzebe held empire rich and large,
And where amid New Zealand fern the English skylarks build,
And rosy children's sun-burnt hands with English flowers are filled,
And from our own Australia too, and all unite to say,
“Bind us to thee with stronger bonds than those we own today,
Give to our sons a place with thine, for each to each is peer,
And let them share thy councils, and the dangers that endear,
And what the Olden Realm has been the Newer Realm shall be,
With a place in every freeman's heart and a port in every sea!”