Classic Poem

I

B ACK , — back! — he fears not foaming flood
— Who fears not steel-clad line!
No offspring this of German blood, —
— No brother thou of mine;
Some bastard spawn of menial birth, —
— Some bound and bartered slave:
Back, — back! — for thee our native earth
— Would be a foreign grave!

II

Away! be mingled with the rest
— Of that thy chosen tribe;
And do the tyrant's high behest,
— And earn the robber's bribe;
And win the chain to gird the neck,
— The gems to hide the hilt,
And blazon honour's hapless wreck
— With all the gauds of guilt.

III

And would'st thou have me share the prey?
— By all that I have done,
By Varus' bones, which day by day
— Are whitening in the sun, —
The legion's shattered panoply,
— The eagle's broken wing,
I would not be, for earth and sky,
— So loathed and scorned a thing!

IV

Ho! bring me here the wizard, boy,
— Of most surpassing skill,
To agonize, and not destroy,
— To palsy, and not kill:
If there be truth in that dread art,
— In song, and spell, and charm,
Now let them torture the base heart,
— And wither the false arm!

V

I curse him by our country's gods,
— The terrible, the dark,
The scatterers of the Roman rods,
— The quellers of the bark!
They fill a cup with bitter woe,
— They fill it to the brim;
Where shades of warriors feast below,
— That cup shall be for him!

VI

I curse him by the gifts our land
— Hath owed to him and Rome, —
The riving axe and burning brand,
— Rent forests, blazing home; —
O may he shudder at the thought,
— Who triumphs in the sight;
And be his waking terrors wrought
— Into fierce dreams by night!

VII

I curse him by the hearts that sigh
— In cavern, grove, and glen, —
The sobs of orphaned infancy,
— The tears of aged men; —
When swords are out, and spear and dart
— Leave little space for prayer,
No fetter on man's arm and heart
— Hangs half so heavy there.

VIII

Oh misery, that such a vow
— On such a head should be!
Why comes he not, my brother, now,
— To fight or fall with me, —
To be my mate in banquet bowl,
— My guard in battle throng,
And worthy of his father's soul
— And of his country's song?

IX

But it is past: — where heroes press
— And spoilers bend the knee,
Arminius is not brotherless, —
— His brethren are the free!
They come around; one hour, and light
— Will fade from turf and tide;
Then onward, onward to the fight,
— With darkness for our guide!

X

To-night, to-night, — when we shall meet
— In combat face to face, —
There only would Arminius greet
— The renegade's embrace;
The canker of Rome's guilt shall be
— Upon his Roman name,
And as he lives in slavery,
— So shall he die in shame!