THE DREAM OF THE NATIONS ERNEST CROSBY I The old, old dream of empire- the dream of Alexander and Caesar, of Tamerlane and Genghis Khan; The dream of subject peoples carrying out our sovereign will through fear; The dream of a universe forced to converge upon us; The dream of pride and loftiness justified by strength of arms; The dream of our arbitrary "Yea" overcoming all "Nays" whatsoever; The dream of a cold, stern, hated machine of empire! But there is a more enticing dream; the dream of wise freedom made contagious; The dream of gratitude rising from broken fetters; The dream of coercion laid prostrate once for all; The dream of nations in love with each other, without a thought of hatred or danger; The dream of tyrants stripped of their tyrannies, and oppressors despoiled of their prey; The dream of a warm, throbbing, one-hearted empire of brothers! II Clear the field for the grand tournament of the nations! 1 Reprinted by permission of Ernest Crosby's publishers, Funk & Wagnalls, from " Swords and Ploughshares" and "Broadcast." The struggle to think the best thought, and to express it, in tone and colour and form and word; The struggle to do the greatest deeds, and lead the noblest and most useful lives; The struggle to see clearest and know truest and love strongest. Your other blood and bludgeon contests but postpone the real fray. The true knights are yearning to enter the lists, and you block the high festival with your brawling. Is it possible that you mistake this for the real event of history? Away with your brutal disorder, and clear the field for the tournament of Man. And who will lead the way? III The good and wise must lead. He that loves most is the best and wisest, and he it is that leads already. Violence will not yield to violence. Tell the great secret to the people. Let the people love, and they will lead. Let the people love, and theirs is the power. IV Love comes! Clear the way, ye institutions, ye laws and customs of ages of hate! The glance of his eyes would wither you. The quiet thrill of his voice would palsy your deepest foundations. Ye do well to tremble at his name. For he is the Revolution - at last the true, long-deferred Revolution. Love is the true Revolution, for Love alone strikes at the very root of ill. V Love the Lord thy God, in thyself! Love the Lord thy God, in thy neighbour! Love God in all things, For this is the one commandment! THE GOLDEN AGE HORACE TRAUBEL I The golden age is in my heart today: it has cut loose from all the yesterdays and tomorrows and allied itself with today; It has come out of the poems and pictures and prophecies, and fixed itself in me; The golden age, which you have always looked back somewhere to see: The golden age, which you have always looked forward somewhere to see: The always postponed, defeated vision, retreating with your retreat, advancing with your advance: The lure of the young, the mockery of the old, the folly of noontime: The sacred, perfect world everywhere, the radiant flawless sundreams drawing us all, body and spirit, into its fairy tangle; For the golden age is not what you take it for in time, but what it comes to in your heart. II You heroes who lived a long while ago, and you heroes who are to come a long while after me, You joys of lovers who are dead, and you joys of lovers who are unborn, You forecasts of seers whose scriptures are a thousand years old or are to come in a thousand years, You eras of ideals lost, and you eras of ideals yet to be won, I say that you are not dead in books and on canvases and in scrolls of ancient parchment: I say that you are alive, and more than alive, in my heart today. I do not need to go anywhere to find you in the records or forecasts of other people: I contain you all-pasts and futures-with something added out of myself. III The golden age does not come to money or fame or rulership, but to men and women and children: It does not come to states and churches or institutions or parties of any sort, but just to you and to me; To me, the chosen bearer of the pledges of the past to the fulfilment of the future: To me, the humble, proud instrument of the eternities, for a moment charged to carry the cross: me, The whole of man reaching to the whole of man through In the great light that surged and swept over my ecstatic soul, reaching through me. IV Who are you, any one, who can remain unmoved when the light breaks upon you? Who can say it does not concern him? just as well not to see as to see? Who can say it is Who can ever be the same child or woman or man again after the day has broken? Who can admit there is anything else in the world, after this has come to the world? I brushed all obstructions from my doorsill and stepped into the road: |