Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BUTLER'S PROCLAMATION, by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Ay! Drop the treacherous mask! Throw by Last Line: Save -- immortality of shame! Subject(s): American Civil War; Butler, Benjamin Franklin (1818-1893); New Orleans, Battle Of (1862); United States - History; Women | ||||||||
AY! drop the treacherous mask! throw by The cloak that veiled thine instincts fell, Stand forth, thou base, incarnate Lie, Stamped with the signet brand of hell! At last we view thee as thou art, A trickster with a demon's heart. Off with disguise! no quarter now To rebel honor! thou wouldst strike Hot blushes up the anguished brow, And murder Fame and Strength alike. Beware! ten million hearts aflame Will burn with hate thou canst not tame! We know thee now! we know thy race! Thy dreadful purpose stands revealed Naked, before the nation's face! Comrades! let Mercy's font be sealed, While the black banner courts the wind, And cursed be he who lags behind! O soldiers, husbands, brothers, sires! Think that each stalwart blow ye give Shall quench the rage of lustful fires, And bid your glorious women live Pure from a wrong whose tainted breath Were fouler than the foulest death. O soldiers, lovers, Christians, men! Think that each breeze that floats and dies O'er the red field, from mount or glen, Is burdened with a maiden's sighs -- And each false soul that turns to flee, Consigns his love to infamy! Think! and strike home! the fabled might Of Titans were a feeble power To that with which your arms should smite In the next awful battle-hour! And deadlier than the bolts of heaven Should flash your fury's fatal leven! No pity! let your thirsty bands Drink their warm fill at caitiff veins; Dip deep in blood your wrathful hands, Nor pause to wipe those crimson stains. Slay! slay! with ruthless sword and will -- The God of vengeance bids you "kill!" Yes! but there's one who shall not die In battle harness! One for whom Lurks in the darkness silently Another and a sterner doom! A warrior's end should crown the brave -- For him, swift cord! and felon grave! As loathsome, charnel vapors melt, Swept by invisible winds to naught, So, may this fiend of lust and guilt Die like nightmare's hideous thought! Naught left to mark the mother's name, Save -- immortality of shame! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARISTOTLE TO PHYLLIS by JOHN HOLLANDER A WOMAN'S DELUSION by SUSAN HOWE JULIA TUTWILER STATE PRISON FOR WOMEN by ANDREW HUDGINS THE WOMEN ON CYTHAERON by ROBINSON JEFFERS TOMORROW by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD LADIES FOR DINNER, SAIPAN by KENNETH KOCH GOODBYE TO TOLERANCE by DENISE LEVERTOV A STORM IN THE DISTANCE (AMONG THE GEORGIAN HILLS) by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE |
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