Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POLAND, by JANET HAMILTON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

POLAND, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Words cannot come, tears will not flow
Last Line: That conquers only to devour.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson
Subject(s): Europe; Nations; Patriotism; Poland


WORDS cannot come, tears will not flow,
So fierce the anguish, stern the woe
The Polish patriot feels. In vain
With bursting heart and burning brain,
With high-strung nerves and vengeful hand,
For freedom and his bleeding land,
He madly strikes the barbarous foe—
Chains, bondage, blood, and tears, and woe,
His only meed; and deeper gloom
Broods o'er the dark and bloody tomb
Of Polish freedom. Lo, the bear,
With rending claws and teeth that tear,
And arms that crush out hope and life,
Growls, hideous victor in the strife!

We sympathise but do not hope,
As through thy serpent folds we grope;
Dark diplomacy, every fold
Constrictive, cruel, slippery, cold;
The horrid folds still crush and bind,
As round the victim's form they wind—
A shapeless mass, the remnant sole,
When thus prepared is swallowed whole.
What agonies of hope deferred
Were thine, while neighbouring powers conferred;
When bootless diplomatic notes
Flew thick as wintry sunbeam motes!
Then came the end, and thou wert left,
Of mercy, hope, and help bereft.

Ah! Garibaldi; we had hope
That now thy strong right arm had scope
To wield the brand uplifted never
But to rescue, defend, deliver
The victims of despotic sway,
And pour the glorious light of day
Through charnel dungeons vile and dark,
Where time had neither hope nor mark,
And laid the Bourbon's crown and throne
Upon the sacred altar stone
Of Freedom. Yet, poor Poland's name,
We breathe it with a blush of shame:
Her language, liberty, and laws
Must die! Just Heaven, avenge her cause!
We cannot, rather will not. None
Will take her by the hand: alone,
Before broad Europe, lost, forlorn,
She lies dismembered, bleeding, torn.

Indignant sorrow swells our breast;
Before high Heaven a stern protest
We make against that barbarous power
That conquers only to devour.





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