Prometheus Bound (Browning, 1833)/The Appeal
THE APPEAL.
Children of our England! stand
On the shores that girt our land;
The ægis of whose cloud-white rock
Braveth Time's own battle shock.
Look above the wide, wide world;
Where the northern blasts have furl'd
Their numbed wings amid the snows,
Mutt'ring in a forced repose—
Or where the madden'd sun on high
Shakes his torch athwart the sky,
Till within their prison sere,
Chained earthquakes groan for fear!
Look above the wide, wide world,
Where a gauntlet Sin hath hurl'd
To astonied Life; and where
Death's gladiatorial smile doth glare,
On making the arena bare.
Shout aloud the words that show
Jesus in the sands and snow;—
Shout aloud the words that free,
Over the perpetual sea.
Speak ye. As a breath will sweep
Avalanche from Alpine steep,
So the spoken word shall roll
Fear and darkness from the soul.
Are ye men, and love not man?
Love ye, and permit his ban?
Can ye, dare ye, rend the chain
Wrought of common joy and pain,
Clasping with its links of gold,
Man to man in one strong hold?
To! if the golden links ye sever,
Ye shall make your heart's flesh quiver;
And wheresoe'er the links are reft,
There, shall be a blood-stain left.
To earth's remotest rock repair,
Ye shall find a vulture there:
Though for others sorrowing not,
Your own tears shall still be hot:
Though ye play a lonely part;
Though ye bear an iron heart;—
Woe, like Echetus, still must
Grind your iron into dust.
But children of our Britain, ye
Rend not man's chain of sympathy;
To those who sit in woe and night,
Denying tears and hiding light.
Ye have stretch'd your hands abroad
With the Spirit's sheathless sword:
Ye have spoken—and the tone
To earth's extremest verge hath gone:
East and west sublime it rolls,
Echoed by a million souls!
The wheels of rapid circling years,
Erst hot with crime, are quench'd in tears.
Rocky hearts wild waters pour,
That were chain'd in stone before:
Bloody hands, that only bare
Hilted sword, are clasp'd in prayer:
Savage tongues, that wont to fling
Shout of war in deathly ring,
Speak the name which angels sing.
Dying lips are lit the while
With a most undying smile,
Which reposing there, instead
Of language, when the lips are dead,
Saith,—'No sound of grief or pain
Shall haunt us when we move again.'
Children of our country! brothers
To the children of all others!
Shout aloud the words that show
Jesus in the sands and snow;—
Shout aloud the words that free,
Over the perpetual sea!