English poem
On The Belgian Expatriation
by Thomas Hardy
I DREAMT that people from the Land of Chimes Arrived one autumn morning with their bells, To hoist them on the towers and citadels Of my own country, that the musical rhymes
Rung by them into space at meted times Amid the market’s daily stir and stress, And the night’s empty star-lit silentness, Might solace souls of this and kindred climes.
Then I awoke; and lo, before me stood The visioned ones, but pale and full of fear; From Bruges they came, and Antwerp, and Ostend,
No carillons in their train. Foes of mad mood Had shattered these to shards amid the gear Of ravaged roof, and smouldering gable-end.
October 18, 1914.
AN APPEAL TO AMERICA ON BEHALF OF THE BELGIAN DESTITUTE
SEVEN millions stand Emaciate, in that ancient Delta-land:— We here, full-charged with our own maimed and dead, And coiled in throbbing conflicts slow and sore, Can poorly soothe these ails unmerited Of souls forlorn upon the facing shore!— Where naked, gaunt, in endless band on band Seven millions stand.
No man can say To your great country that, with scant delay, You must, perforce, ease them in their loud need: We know that nearer first your duty lies; But—is it much to ask that you let plead Your lovingkindness with you—wooing-wise— Albeit that aught you owe, and must repay, No man can say?
December 1914.