MOTHER EGYPT.
Joaquin Miller
ark-browed, she broods with weary lids - Beside her Sphynx and Pyramids,
- With low and never-lifted head.
- If she be dead, respect the dead;
- If she be weeping, let her weep;
- If she be sleeping, let her sleep;
- For lo, this woman named the stars!
- She suckled at her tawny dugs
- Your Moses while you reeked in wars
- And prowled your woods, nude, painted thugs.
- Then back, brave England; back in peace
- To Christian isles of fat increase!
- Go back! Else bid your high priests mold
- Their meek bronze Christs to cannon bold;
- Take down their cross from proud St. Paul's
- And coin it into cannon-balls!
- You tent not far from Nazareth.
- Your camps trench where his child-feet strayed.
- If Christ had seen this work of death!
- If Christ had seen these ships invade!
- I think the patient Christ had said,
- "Go back, brave men! Take up your dead;
- Draw down your great ships to the seas;
- Repass the gates of Hercules.
- Go back to wife with babe at breast,
- And leave lorn Egypt to her rest."
- Or is Christ dead, as Egypt is?
- Ah, England, hear me yet again;
- There's something grimly wrong in this
- So like some gray, sad woman slain.
- What would you have your mother do?
- Hath she not done enough for you?
- Go back! And when you learn to read,
- Come read this obelisk. Her deed
- Like yonder awful forehead is
- Disdainful silence. Like to this
- What lessons have you writ in stone
- To passing nations that shall stand?
- Why, years as hers will leave you lone
- And level as yon yellow sand.
- Saint George? Your lions? Whence are they?
- From awful, silent Africa.
- This Egypt is the lion s lair;
- Beware, brave Albion, beware!
- I feel the very Nile should rise
- To drive you from this sacrifice.
- And if the seven plagues should come?
- The red seas swallow sword and steed ?
- Lo! Christian lands stand mute and dumb
- To see thy more than Moslem deed.