r.

HONOR

(_To the Night-Riders Who Murdered Hedges_)

Honor to men
Who leave their homes
And children safe asleep,
To take the cover of night and fright
Women that wake and weep!
Honor, again,
To those who mount
For blood--hounds in a pack!
But let us honor the most of all--
Men that shoot in the back!

For, it is good
To fare a-field
And frighten helpless things,
And how good with a torch to scorch
A poor man's harvestings.
But, if you would
Do something high
And blameless, brave not black,
Ride till you find a peaceful man--
Then shoot--shoot in the back!

Why, there was one
In Palestine
Who gave a certain kiss.
_More_, fine friends, do you give who live
In a land not far from this!
For what _he_ had done
He hanged himself--
Shame made a sick heart crack.
But you will muster and ride again--
And shoot--shoot in the back!

Oh, and you may!
But wait, the Day
Will come--shall it not come?
The Sovereign Law that you flaunt and daunt,
Will she lie always dumb?
Her prisons gray
They are slow, but wide;
When they open, you will lack
Many a thing--but most the fair,
Brave chance to shoot in the back!

O that a man
Should write such words
Of any soul alive!
That any shameless ear should hear--
And still in stealth connive
To burn and to ban,
From home and help,
The weak who fear the rack!
That he could wait till Justice _turns_,
Then shoot--shoot in the back!

BRUDE[2]

(_A Dramatic Fantasy_)

[2] This sketch, written in 1898, was in no sense conceived
for the stage.

Dealing with:
_Boadicea_, queen of the Britons.
_Lamora_, a Gaulish captive.
_Brude_, a Druid.
_Cormo_, a warrior.
_Corlun_, Druid high-priest,
and
_Horma_, a wandering hag.

SCENE: _A Hall of hewn wood, on the island of Mona, in which_
BOADICEA _sits enthroned and attended. On her right,
warriors, long-haired, mustached and painted with woad. On
the left, a band of Druids robed in white: among them_ BRUDE,
_whom she watches jealously from time to time. On the floor
in front of her cringes_ LAMORA, _held by_ CORMO.

_Boadicea._ Britons, hear!
Ye know how my lord,
Caerleon's liege,
Swor