A GREAT year and place;
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mothers heart closer
I walkd the shores of my Eastern Sea,
Heard over the waves the little voice,
Saw the divine infant, where she woke, mournfully wailing, amid the roar of cannon,
shouts, crash of falling buildings;
Was not so sick from the blood in the gutters runningnor from the single corpses,
those in heaps, nor those borne away in the tumbrils;
Was not so desperate at the battues of deathwas not so shockd at the repeated
fusillades of the guns.
Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long-accrued retribution?
Could I wish humanity different?
Could I wish the people made of wood and stone?
Or that there be no justice in destiny or time?
O Liberty! O mate for me!
Here too the blaze, the grape-shot and the axe, in reserve, to fetch them out in case of
Here too, though long represt, can never be destroyd;
Here too could rise at last, murdering and extatic;
Here too demanding full arrears of vengeance.
Hence I sign this salute over the sea,
And I do not deny that terrible red birth and baptism,
But remember the little voice that I heard wailingand wait with perfect trust, no
And from to-day, sad and cogent, I maintain the bequeathd cause, as for all lands,
And I send these words to Paris with my love,
And I guess some chansonniers there will understand them,
For I guess there is latent music yet in Francefloods of it;
O I hear already the bustle of instrumentsthey will soon be drowning all that would
O I think the east wind brings a triumphal and free march,
It reaches hitherit swells me to joyful madness,
I will run transpose it in words, to justify it,
I will yet sing a song for you, MA FEMME.