Till Love's one centre devour these centres Of many self-loves; and the patriot's trick To better his land by egotist ventures, Defamed from a virtue, shall make men sick, As the scalp at the belt of some red hero. XXV. For certain virtues have dropped to zero, Left by the sun on the mountain's dewy side; Churchman's charities, tender as Nero, Indian suttee, heathen suicide, Service to rights divine, proved hollow: XXVI. And Heptarchy patriotisms must follow. --National voices, distinct yet dependent, Ensphering each other, as swallow does swallow, With circles still widening and ever ascendant, In multiform life to united progression,-- XXVII. These shall remain. And when, in the session Of nations, the separate language is heard, Each shall aspire, in sublime indiscretion, To help with a thought or exalt with a word Less her own than her rival's honour. XXVIII. Each Christian nation shall take upon her The law of the Christian man in vast: The crown of the getter shall fall to the donor, And last shall be first while first shall be last, And to love best shall still be, to reign unsurpassed. A CURSE FOR A NATION. PROLOGUE. I heard an angel speak last night, And he said "Write! Write a Nation's curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea." I faltered, taking up the word: "Not so, my lord! If curses must be, choose another To send thy curse against my brother. "For I am bound by gratitude, By love and blood, To brothers of mine across the sea, Who stretch out kindly hands to me." "Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write My curse to-night. From the summits of love a curse is driven, As lightning is from the tops of heaven." "Not so," I answered. "Evermore My heart is sore For my own land's sins: for little feet Of children bleeding along the street: "For parked-up honours that gainsay The right of way: For almsgiving through a door that is Not open enough for two friends to kiss: "For love of freedom which abates Beyond the Straits: For patriot virtue starved to vice on Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion: "For an oligarchic parliament, And bribes well-meant. What curse to another land assign, When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?" "Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write My curse to-night. Because thou hast strength to see and hate A foul thing done _within_ thy gate." "Not so," I answered once again. "To curse, choose men. For I, a woman, have only known How the heart melts and the tears run down." "Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write My curse to-night. Some women weep and curse, I say (And no one marvels), night and day.