Then back, brave England; back in peace To Christian isles of fat increase! Go back! Else bid your high priests bear The sword and curse the sweet plowshare; Take down their cross from proud Saint Paul’s And coin it into cannon-balls! You tent not far from Nazareth, Your camps trench where his child-feet strayed. If Christ had seen this work of death! If Christ had seen these ships invade! I think the patient Christ had said, “Go back, brave men! Take up your dead; Draw down your great ships to the seas; Repass the gates of Hercules; Go back to wife with babe at breast, And leave lorn Egypt to her rest.” Or is Christ dead, as Egypt is? Ah, England, hear me yet again; There’s something grimly wrong in this-- So like some gray, sad woman slain. What would you have your mother do? Hath she not done enough for you? Go back! And when you learn to read, Come read this obelisk. Her deed Like yonder awful forehead is Disdainful silence. Like to this What lessons have you writ in stone To passing nations that shall stand? Why, years, as hers, will leave you lone And level as yon yellow sand. Saint George? Your lions? Whence are they? From awful, silent Africa. This Egypt is the lion’s lair; Beware, brave Albion, beware! I feel the very Nile should rise To drive you from this sacrifice. And if the seven plagues should come? The red seas swallow sword and steed? Lo! Christian lands stand mute and dumb To see thy more than Moslem deed. ANGLO-SAXON ALLIANCE. _England’s Colonial Secretary, who must bear a great part of the blame and shame of this Boer war, has said publicly that there is something like alliance between England and the United States. Our Secretary of State says there is nothing of the sort, and we know there is not, nor can be, until “We, the People,” choose to have it, and that will not be until this crime against the Boer is forgotten, as well as Bunker Hill and the Fourth of July._ Alliance! And with whom? For what? Comes there the skin-clad Vandal down From Danube’s wilds with vengeance hot? Comes Turk with torch to sack the town And wake the world with battle shot? Come wild beasts loosened from the lair? No, no! Right fair blue Danube sweeps. No, no! The Turk, the wild beast sleeps. No, no! There’s something more than this-- Or Judas’ kiss? Or serpent’s hiss? There’s mischief in the air! Alliance! And with whom? For what? Did we not bear an hundred years Of England’s hate, hot battle shot, Blent, ever blent, with scorn and jeers? And we survived it, did we not? We bore her hate, let’s try to bear Her love; but watch her and beware! Beware the Greek with gifts and fair Kind promises and courtly praise. Beware the serpent’s subtle ways-- There’s mischief in the air!