THE NATIONS' NEW-YEAR'S DAY.
Beneath the fading mistletoe in Time's wide-echoing Hall,—
The Yule-log's light still brisk and bright, on storied roof and wall—
The Spirits of the Nations, some strange, some kith and kin,
Are met to flout the Old Year out and fête the New Year in.
With war-stains dim on robe and limb, fresh scars on cheek and brow,
France strives to look as though no pains could crush, no losses bow:
But her glance is quick and restless, and her hands are never still,
As one that, fevered inly, masks but masters not her ill.
As if in mock of Christmas wreaths,—their "peace, good-will to men"—
What fierce hate in her eyes whene'er proud Prussia meets their ken!
Prussia that, stern and stately, her great sword, laurel-wreathed,
Bears wary, so, 'tis hard to know if bare the blade, or sheathed.
So light and lithe that stalwart frame in movement or at rest,
You scarce would deem you caught the gleam of steel below her breast;
Beneath the wide imperial robe, that, fire-new, sweeps the ground,
With what now seems a diadem, and now a helmet, crowned.
But mark yon maid, of loveliness more radiant and more rare
Than all the showers of gems and flowers that star her night of hair;
For strength and grace to fit that face, what music but the tongue
Wherein stern Dante chaunted, and silvery Petrarch sung?
Queen among Queens! But never Queen full-robed and crowned till now,
The double diadem of Rome on her exultant brow!
Who notes the dust, who recks the rust, that dulls or dims its sheen,
Or asks how she came by it, or through what mire it has been?
From sleep or strife new roused to life that lights her antique face,
No monkish train nor slavish chain to cramp her strength and grace,
What wonder if she hardly know in soberness to still
The throbbing of late-loosened blood, the stir of waking will?
Others are there, though notable, less notable than these:
See Russia, blue-eyed giantess, still rude and ill at ease:
But who can tell what undrawn wells of power and strength are there,
Under the brow that looms so broad below her fell of hair?
And Austria, motley madam, 'twixt Vienna demi-monde,
Tyrolian mädchen, Magyar brune, and rough Sclavonian blonde:
Of look more gracious than her mood, more potent than her power,
Trying all arts, and changing trick and toilet with the hour.
And Spain, still proud as when she walked New World and Old a Queen,
Beneath her soiled and frayed brocades the rags plain to be seen,
Stately of speech, but beggarly of all but sounding phrase,
Slattern at home and shrew abroad, in worse as better days.
With sidelong and suspicious looks on Russia, Austria cast,
Which scarce her yashmak serves to hide, see Turkey gliding past.
A harem-beauty out of place 'twixt angers and alarms
At the hot looks of would-be Lords, that lust to own her charms.
Casting about for shelter she draws where, hand in hand,
Fair England and Columbia, proud child, proud mother, stand:
Time was upon each other they had turned less friendly eyes,
But of late both have grown wiser than let angry passions rise.
To the side of stout Britannia I see scared Turkey creep,
Though Britannia lifts no finger her foes at bay to keep:
But, for all her quiet bearing, there is something in her air
That brings to mind the good old saw, "Of sleeping dogs beware!"
Twelve struck—and I saw grey Old Time his wassail-bowl uprear,
As he called on all the Nations to drink in the New Year;
But first to drink the Old Year out, that to his end has come,
With small cause to regret him, as he passes on to doom.
And looking on those Nations, scarce a single face I saw
But over it lay such a cloud as doubt and fear might draw:
As if all wished the Old Year gone, while yet all doubted sore
If their welcome to the New Year should be hopefuller, therefor.
Some, thinking of disasters past, worse sorrows seemed to see,
In the near or farther future, up seething gloomily:
Some thinking of advantage won, seemed scarce to trust their hold
On that advantage, lest their prize turn dust, like fairy gold.
Only methought that Britain and Columbia, 'mid their peers,
Showed eyes more hopeful, calmer brows, and lips less pale with fears:
As having clearer view than most where surest faith should lie—
To put their trust in Providence, and keep their powder dry.
As being bent to fight the fight of common sense and truth:
Nor yield the faith therein to fear, the rights thereof to ruth:
Not give knaves, fools, or fanatics, the driving seat and reins:
Worthy his hire to own each man who works, with hand or brains.
To recognise the Heavenly rule that various lots assigns,
But ranges high and low alike 'neath Duty's even lines:
To do to others as we would that they to us should do,
To prize the blessings that we have, and others help thereto.
While Britain to this faith is firm, and puts this faith in deed,
Little to her how plenteous or how poor the years succeed.
She holds a hope good fortune reared not up, ill casts not down;
Trusting the Power whose hand alike is o'er Red-Cap and Crown.
