A Plea for the Republic

You have delivered our afflicted earth
Of that Napoleonic After-birth,
Begot of horrible rape and hideous wrong,
With which abortion Prance hath travailed
long;
But do not bleed to death a gallant nation
Suffering the Ccesarean operation!

Burn out of earth all record of his hand:
Right to the soul of us efface the brand!
Let all men see that Paris hath arisen
To erect her throne on ruins of her prison!
Each beauty blast that decked her as his Slave;
But do not bury us in the Empire's grave.

You came with Resurrection in your tread!
Was it for Second death you woke the dead?
You rolled the Gravestone of the Soul away,
Is it to thrust us deeper from the day,
Because you were so wronged, while we were
bound
Blind in a dungeon, worse than underground?

His Slaves, his Hirelings, shouted for the war,
But we went chained to Caesar's battle-car;
Dumb for the sacrifice, were safely gagged,
And in his dust-cloud to the conflict dragged.

Co
We voted " Yes," but that the Tyrant knew
Meant liberty at home, not war with you.

Ah, do not bid our young Republic die!
Now you have rooted out the cancerous Lie,
And freed us from the curse that drained our
blood
And spirit more than all your battle could;
Do not put out our struggling, only light,
"Whereby we still distinguish wrong from right.

"We offer you a Conquest, loftier yet
Than any you have reached with hands red-wet;

Or any you can win, e'en though we stood
And slew and slew till both were blind with
blood;
Our little fields made one vast heaving tomb;
All heaven one black pall of smoking gloom.

O, Men! is it not shame enough that we
Have suffered wrongs so great, so helplessly:
So past all common signs of wrong for years
Of wrong too deep for words — too stern for tears!
Think how we were betrayed by Him who hath
made
Our streets straight; cleared them for your Can-
nonade!

We can but rise up from the dust to kneel;

Trying to gain our feet once more we feel
What hurts we got when down — knocked out of
breath,
Kneeled on, heart-crushed, and knuckled nigh to
death;
As some poor Madman, who hath dropped and
swooned,
Is maimed where none can see his mortal wound.

Be generous, Germans! we will take the print
Of kindness deeper than the fierce sword-dint;
A wounded Nation watches — waits to see
The advent of your Eel-cross Chivalry:
As the dark spirit of the passing Storm
Springs up divine, and lo! the .Rainbow's form!

We hail you, Brothers, who have broke our bands;
As Brothers we stretch forth to you our hands:
Brothers beside you we would freely march
In peace, beneath glad heaven's triumphal arch:
As Brothers we have Our great part to play
When Kings and Emperors have passed away!