Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PRINCIP, by CALE YOUNG RICE Poet's Biography First Line: Look at him there, a lad of nineteen years Last Line: Princip, with nineteen years, can you not tell? Subject(s): Assassination; Fate; Guns; Nations; World War I; Destiny; First World War | ||||||||
Look at him there, a lad of nineteen years, Slipping along the street with Slavic tread: A moment, and from out his pistol's mouth Shall leap the spark to set a world in flames. For with the red death of a royal duke The infinite tangle of a continent Of immemorially warring peoples Is kindled, and through millions of calm breasts The old race hatred runs. Austria reft, Knowing the shot was at her feudal heart, Flashes from out her molten indignation A word that wakes the wild Caucasian urgence Of Slavdom, ever swelling toward the West. And Evolution's endless tragedies -- The friction fostered by uncounted kings, The ancient war-cries that ring still in the blood With timeless memories of rape and slaughter, Inheritances, bred deep in the bone, Of battling tongues and creeds and cruelties, Of ruined homes, wrecked loves, and razed delights, These and a thousand scorns and dark contempts And hatreds, heirlooms of long ignorance, Flare up into one frenzied thirst for war! Princip, Princip, lad of the nineteen years, Was it the finger of God that pulled your trigger And loosed the avalanches of destruction With a blind bullet of predestination? Was it of God, who found His upward way To some world-aim thwarted by all the mesh And fever of impenetrable passions? A hundred times within one haunted week The scales of Destiny hung even: Who weighed them down to War? Was it our God? Who spoke into the Teuton veins a faith That the inexorable hour had rung To face the Russian horror, and, at last, By letting their own blood, relieve their hearts Of the long warward strain that pride and fear And pent world-hunger kept so peril-taut? Who used the living enmity of France, Bidding her stretch an oath of dark allegiance Across Germanic borders to the Slav, And plight a fearful or revengeful troth To the wild Muscovite, in whose vast breast A consciousness, perchance, of low estate Is the dim whip that drives him west to freedom? And England, with her greed, for good or ill Girdled about the globe, and with her pride And dominance of empire thundering From ships on every sea, who flung her heart, A-quest for peace, yet with a secret sense That now her dreaded foe might be struck down -- Who flung her heart upon the bloody fields? Princip, with nineteen years, can you not tell? Is God in this? or was His Immanence O'erwhelmed by atavistic Nature's surge Up from the core of earth? Are East and West, From Asia to young Yukon, swept by winds Of war into this crucible of time, To emerge after long fumes of pain and horror More nearly fused to one humanity? Or has void Chance, on which was builded up The Babel of our boasted civilization, Betrayed us as we grasped toward the stars? Can He, the Alchemist of the Universe, Pour blood and burning tears and misery And waste and famine out upon the earth, Yet in a year, or in a yoke of years, Transmute them into human betterment? Or does intemperable fatality Strain now the heart-strings of a continent To breaking, and its mind to mad unfaith? Princip, God's tool, or Hell's, can you not tell? 'Autocracies shall go and Armaments And that peace-murdering trade, Diplomacy!' Such the cry is, Princip. And shall your blow, Your petty, obsessed, patriotistic blow, The last of the innumerable that ages Have struck against the ancient iron gates Of Tyranny -- shall yours avail at last? Or shall steel yet entrench the happiness Of nations, not far mightier common-weal? And since men seize at last, with wan clairvoyance, The vision of a World-State shaping dim Upon the horizon of their misery, Is it mirage, desert delusion, dream, Born not of possibility but pain? Or does in truth the misty dome arise, Already shadowed forth by their desire, Of a World-Parliament's protecting peace, And in it the one universal right Of HUMAN WELFARE graven high, to guide Their vast deliberations -- and to link At last with brave and noble assent to Law The nations bruted now by bloody Might? Princip, with nineteen years, can you not tell? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...D'ANNUNZIO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY 1915: THE TRENCHES by CONRAD AIKEN TO OUR PRESIDENT by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE HORSES by KATHARINE LEE BATES CHILDREN OF THE WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE U-BOAT CREWS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE RED CROSS NURSE by KATHARINE LEE BATES WAR PROFITS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE UNCHANGEABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A CHARM TO BRING CHILDREN (EGYPT, A.D. 100) by CALE YOUNG RICE |
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