The Man Forsworn
Who draws to-day the unrighteous sword?
Behold him stand, the Man Forsworn,
The warrior of the faithless word,
The pledge disowned, the covenant torn,
Who prates of honour, truth, and trust,
Ere he profanes them in the dust.
When to yon fabric grey in fame,
That Windsor lifts against the sky,
In martial cloak the Kaiser came,
We did not dream it cloaked a spy;
Yet there he sat, as now we know,
A guest, a kinsman, and a foe.
France was a gallant foe and fair,
That looked us proudly in the face,
With her frank eyes and freeborn air,
And valour half-concealed in grace.
Noblest of all with whom we strove,
At last she gives us noble love.
But he that took our proffered hand,
Thinking to take our birthright too,
He, in this hospitable land,
Bore him as only dastards do.
Here, where the Earth still nurtures men,
His hand shall soil not ours again.
We know his people great and strong;
On such as these we cast no slur;
Our wonder is that they so long
Suffer ungalled his bit and spur.
'Tis with no heart of joy that we
Arise to smite them on the sea.
Glory we count of lesser worth
Than wife and babe and hearth and home;
Theirs is the mandate speeding forth
Our steps of thunder on the foam;
For them we fight, for them we stand,
Yea, and for faith 'twixt land and land.
You that have linked your might with ours,
To break his pride who breaks the laws,
You wear today, 'mid perjured Powers,
The armour of a spotless cause;
Your legions march in Truth arrayed,
And knightly Honour whets your blade.
From Baltic or Biscayan shores
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poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
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