II
Lord Bumplepuppy, too, that got
The knock from Messrs Dawkins’ dray?
And Jonas, whom the Cachalot
Begulphed in Esdraelon Bay?
The Calvinistic John McKay,
Who argued till his nostrils bled,
And dropped in apoplexy? Nay!
But where are the unanswering dead?
III
And Heliodorus too, that hot
Defender of the Roman sway;
And He, the author of the “Tot
Mercedes dant Victoriæ,”
And all the armoured squadrons gay
That ever glory nourishèd
In all the world’s high charges? Nay!
But where are the unanswering dead?
Envoi
Prince, have you ever learnt to pray
Upon your knees beside your bed?
You miserable waxwork? Nay!
But where are the unanswering dead?
BALLADE TO OUR LADY OF CZESTOCHOWA
I
Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold
And very Regent of the untroubled sky,
Whom in a dream St Hilda did behold
And heard a woodland music passing by:
You shall receive me when the clouds are high
With evening and the sheep attain the fold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.