Classic Poem

To London speed, O breeze of dawning day,
Bear this my message to Sir Edward Grey.
To thee in skill, wise Councillor of State,
Ne'er did the world produce a peer or mate!
Great Peter's schemes to thine were shifting sand,
And weak by thine the plans that Bismarck planned.
Ne'er from Toulon Napoleon's hosts had gone
If on the Pyramids thy name had shone
Had Paris been in league with thee, in vain
The German hosts had swamped Alsace-Lorraine.
Had England 'gainst the States sought help from thee
No Washington had won them victory
Had thy prestige companioned England's arms
Ne'er had the Boers caused England such alarms.
Would Kuropatkin's hosts before Japan
Had fled had he been guided by thy plan?
Had the Manchus been aided by thy thought
The rebels ne'er against their king had fought.
And had thy schemes included Persia's life
Not fruitless had remained this storm and strife.
“When fortune frowns on man,” the proverb goes,
“His wisest act no good resultant shows.”
Alas that thou, for all thy wits, hast wrought
A deed which save regret can yield thee naught!
For India's gates, closed for a hundred years,
To Russia now you open without fears.
You nurse the wolf-cub in your arms: a deed
Which folly prompts, and which to grief will lead.
To this o'erbearing partner you submit,
And bow your head, bereft of sense and wit
Your pacts with Russia made in time gone by
Brought loss unseen by your short-sighted eye.
In Afghánistán, Persia and Tibet
Before your foe a three-doored wall you've set
Mosul to Sístán's now an open way:
Herát, Tibet they claim, nor fear your “Nay!”
Henceforth this three-fold road to watch, indeed,
A million men on land and sea you'll need
India's advantage if you squander so
Naught will you reap except remorse and woe,
You knew not, though both town and desert knew,
What hurt to England would from this accrue.
Not Persia only feels the Russian squeeze;
'Tis felt by Afgháns and by Káshgharís!
“Russia her pact will keep,” you answer me:
Her records read, and wondrous things you'll see!
Not I but human nature tells you plain
That pacts weigh naught compared with present gain;
The more since Russia longs for India still
As longs the hawk for partridge on the hill;
Else why did she o'er Persian lands let loose
Her Cossack hordes to crown her long abuse?
Why in Khurásán, India's broad highway,
Do all these troops of hers unmotived stay?
Such mischief wherefore hath she wrought, and why
Done deeds redounding to her infamy?
From Tabríz to Sarakhs her soldiers dwell,
Some twenty thousand, if you count them well.
From North to East our land all peaceful lay:
Why without reason do the Russians stay?
Reason, forsooth! The Russians there remain
Waiting for some more glorious campaign
With India for its goal: this goal they crave,
These pampered pirates of the Caspian Wave!
The more so should you culpably delay
Till Russian rails to India find their way.
These rails shall bring thy foeman near to thee:
Avoid such roads so fraught with jeopardy!
'Twas Persia barred the road: woe worth the day
Which swept this ancient barrier away!
O cursed obstinacy, which did raise
This veil, and set the feet in such a maze!
Headstrong and rash you wrought a deed of shame
Which stolid Turk and vagrant Arab blame.
Woe to that judgement cool, that reason bright,
Which now have put you in so dire a plight!
All hail that judgement, hail that insight rare,
Of which, men say, you hold so large a share!