Not yet, not yet to interfere does England see occasion,
But treats our good commissioner with coolness and evasion;
Such coolness in the premises, that really 'tis refrigerant
To think that two long years ago she called us a belligerent.
But, further, Downing-street is dumb, the premier deaf to reason,
As deaf as is the Morning Post, both in and out of season;
The working men of Lancashire are all reduced to beggary,
And yet they will not listen unto Roebuck or to Gregory,
"Or any other man," to-day, who counsels interfering,
While all who speak on t'other side obtain a ready hearing--
As, par exemple, Mr. Bright, that pink of all propriety,
That meek and mild disciple of the blessed Peace Society.
"Why, let 'em fight," says Mr. Bright, "those Southerners, I hate 'em,
And hope the Black Republicans will soon exterminate 'em;
If freedom can't rebellion crush, pray tell me what's the use of her?"
And so he chuckles o'er the fray as gleefully as Lucifer.
Enough of him--an abler man demands our close attention--
The Maximus Apollo of strict non-intervention--
With pitiless severity, though decorous and calm his tone,
Thus spake the "old man eloquent," the puissant Earl of Palmerston:
"What though the land run red with blood, what though the lurid flashes
Of cannon light, at dead of night, a mournful heap of ashes
Where many an ancient mansion stood--what though the robber pillages
The sacred home, the house of God, in twice a hundred villages.
"What though a fiendish, nameless wrong, that makes revenge a duty,
Is daily done" (O Lord, how long!) "to tenderness and beauty!"
(And who shall tell this deed of hell, how deadlier far a curse it is
Than even pulling temples down and burning universities)?
"Let arts decay, let millions fall, aye, let freedom perish,
With all that in the western world men fain would love and cherish;
Let universal ruin there become a sad reality:
We cannot swerve, we must preserve our rigorous neutrality."
Oh, Pam! oh, Pam! hast ever read what's writ in holy pages,
How blessed the peace-makers are, God's children of the ages?
Perhaps you think the promise sweet was nothing but a platitude;
'Tis clear that you have no concern in that divine beatitude.
But "hear! hear! hear!" another peer, that mighty man of muscle,
Is on his legs, what slender pegs! "ye noble Earl" of Russell;
Thus might he speak, did not of speech his shrewd reserve the folly see,
And thus unfold the subtle plan of England's secret policy.