APOSTASY

Truths change with time, and terms with truth. To-day

A statesman worships union, and to-night

Disunion. Shame to have sinned against the light

Confounds not but impels his tongue to unsay

What yestereve he swore. Should fear make way

For treason? honour change her livery? fright

Clasp hands with interest? wrong pledge faith with right?

Religion, mercy, conscience, answer — Yea.

To veer is not to veer: when votes are weighed,

The numerous tongue approves him renegade

Who cannot change his banner: he that can

Sits crowned with wreaths of praise too pure to fade.

Truth smiles applause on treason's poisonous plan:

And Cleon is an honourable man.

Pure faith, fond hope, sweet love, with God for guide,

Move now the men whose blameless error cast

In prison ( ah, but love condones the past! )

Their subject knaves that were — their lords that ride

Now laughing on their necks, and now bestride

Their vassal backs in triumph. Faith stands fast

Though fear haul down the flag that crowned her mast

And hope and love proclaim that truth has lied.

Turn, turn, and turn — so bids the still small voice,

The changeless voice of honour. He that stands

Where all his life he stood, with bribeless hands,

With tongue unhired to mourn, reprove, rejoice,

Curse, bless, forswear, and swear again, and lie,

Stands proven apostate in the apostate's eye.

Fraud shrinks from faith: at sight of swans, the raven

Chides blackness, and the snake recoils aghast

In fear of poison when a bird flies past.

Thersites brands Achilles as a craven;

The shoal fed full with shipwreck blames the haven

For murderous lust of lives devoured, and vast

Desire of doom whose feast is mercy's fast:

And Bacon sees the traitor's mark engraven

Full on the front of Essex. Grief and shame

Obscure the chaste and sunlike spirit of Oates

At thought of Russell's treason; and the name

Of Milton sickens with superb disgust

The heaving heart of Waller. Wisdom dotes,

If wisdom turns not tail and licks not dust.

The sole sweet land found fit to wed the sea,

With reptile rebels at her heel of old,

Set hard her heel upon them, and controlled

The cowering poisonous peril. How should she

Cower, and resign her trust of empire? Free

As winds and waters live the loyal-souled

And true-born sons that love her: nay, the bold

Base knaves who curse her name have leave to be

The loud-tongued liars they are. For she, beyond

All woful years that bid men's hearts despond,

Sees yet the likeness of her ancient fame

Burn from the heavenward heights of history, hears

Not Leicester's name but Sidney's — faith's, not fear's —

Not Gladstone's now but only Gordon's name.