Read Ebook: Freedom Truth and Beauty Sonnets by Doyle Edward

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 231 lines and 26076 words, and 5 pages

Voil? ce qu'on d?m?le d'ineffa?ablement humain sous toutes les absurdit?s et pu?rilit?s de nos rencontres actuelles. Si d?raisonnable qu'elle paraisse, cette esp?ce d'interrogation supr?me, cette question pos?e dans la nuit que n'?claire plus la justice intelligible, on ne pourra gu?re y renoncer tant qu'on n'aura pas trouv? une fa?on moins ?quivoque de peser les droits et les torts, les esp?rances et les in?galit?s essentielles de deux destin?es qui veulent s'affronter.

Du reste, pour descendre de ces r?gions hant?es de fant?mes plus ou moins dangereux, au point de vue pratique, il est certain que le duel, c'est-?-dire la possibilit? de se faire extra-l?galement et pourtant r?guli?rement justice ? soi-m?me, r?pond ? un besoin qu'on ne saurait nier. Nous ne vivons pas au sein d'une soci?t? qui nous prot?ge suffisamment pour nous enlever en toutes circonstances ce droit le plus cher ? l'instinct de l'homme.

Il est inutile, je pense, d'?num?rer les cas o? la protection est insuffisante. Nous aurions plus t?t fait de citer ceux o? elle suffit. Sans doute, pour ceux qui sont l?gitimement faibles et sans d?fense, il serait d?sirable qu'il en f?t autrement; mais pour ceux qui sont capables de se d?fendre, il est tr?s salutaire qu'il en soit ainsi, car rien n'endort l'initiative et le caract?re comme une protection trop z?l?e et trop constante. Souvenons-nous que nous sommes avant tout des ?tres de proie et de lutte; qu'il faut avoir ?gard ? ne pas ?teindre compl?tement en nous les qualit?s de l'homme primitif, car ce n'est pas sans raison que la nature les y a mises. S'il est sage d'en restreindre l'exc?s, il est prudent d'en garder le principe. Nous ne savons pas les retours offensifs que nous m?nagent les ?l?ments ou d'autres forces de l'univers; et probablement malheur ? nous s'ils nous trouvent un jour enti?rement d?nu?s de l'esprit de vengeance, de m?fiance, de col?re, de brutalit?, de combativit? et de bien d'autres d?fauts, tr?s bl?mables au point de vue humain, mais qui bien plus que les vertus abstinentes le plus pr?conis?es nous ont aid?s ? vaincre les grands ennemis de notre esp?ce.

Il convient donc de louer en g?n?ral ceux qui ne se laissent pas offenser impun?ment. Ils entretiennent parmi nous un id?al de justice extra-l?gale dont nous profitons tous, et qui s'effriterait rapidement sans leur aide. D?plorons plut?t qu'ils ne soient pas plus nombreux. S'il y avait un peu moins de bonnes ?mes capables de ch?tier, mais trop promptes ? pardonner, on trouverait bien moins de m?chants trop prompts ? faire le mal; car les trois quarts du mal qui se commet naissent de la certitude de l'impunit?. Pour le maintien de la crainte et du respect diffus qui permettent aux malheureux d?sarm?s de vivre et de respirer ? peu pr?s librement dans une soci?t? o? pullulent les coquins et les l?ches, il est du strict devoir de tous ceux qui sont ? m?me de r?sister par un geste de violence ? l'injustice l?galement permise, de ne jamais manquer ? le faire. Ils rel?vent ainsi le niveau de la justice immanente. En croyant ne d?fendre qu'eux-m?mes ils d?fendent en somme le plus pr?cieux des patrimoines humains. Je ne pr?tends pas qu'il ne vaudrait pas mieux, dans la plupart des cas, que les tribunaux intervinssent; mais en attendant que nos lois soient plus simples, plus pratiques, moins co?teuses et plus famili?res, nous n'avons, contre un certain nombre d'iniquit?s tr?s r?elles, quoique non pr?vues par les Codes, d'autre recours que le poing ou l'?p?e.

Le poing est rapide, imm?diat; mais outre qu'il n'est pas assez concluant, que d?s que l'offense a quelque gravit? il s'affirme vraiment trop anodin et trop ?ph?m?re, il a toujours des gestes un peu vulgaires et des effets assez r?pugnants. Il ne met en jeu qu'une facult? brutale. Il est la plus aveugle et la plus in?gale des armes; et, comme il ?chappe ? toutes les conventions qui ?quilibreraient les chances de deux adversaires mal appari?s, il entra?ne de la part du vaincu des repr?sailles exag?r?es qui finissent par l'armer du b?ton, du couteau ou du revolver.

Il est admissible en certains pays, en Angleterre par exemple. La boxe y fait partie de l'?ducation ?l?mentaire, et sa pratique g?n?rale aplanit singuli?rement les in?galit?s naturelles; de plus, tout un organisme de clubs, de jurys paternels, de tribunaux faciles corrobore ou pr?vient ses exploits. Mais en France il serait regrettable qu'on y rev?nt. L'?p?e, qui l'y remplace imm?morialement, est un instrument de justice incomparablement plus sensible, plus s?rieux, plus gracieux et plus d?licat. On lui reproche de n'?tre ni ?quitable ni probante. Mais elle prouve d'abord la qualit? de notre attitude en face du danger, et c'est d?j? une preuve qui n'est pas sans valeur. Car notre attitude en face du danger, c'est exactement notre attitude en face des reproches ou des encouragements des diverses consciences qui se cachent en nous: de celles qui sont au-dessous, comme de celles qui sont au-dessus de notre conscience intelligible, et qui se confondent avec les ?l?ments essentiels et pour ainsi dire universels de notre ?tre. Ensuite, il ne tient qu'? nous qu'elle devienne aussi ?quitable que peut l'?tre un instrument humain, toujours sujet aux hasards, aux erreurs et aux d?faillances. Il est certain que son ?tude est accessible ? tout homme valide. Elle n'exige ni une force musculaire anormale ni une agilit? exceptionnelle. Il suffit que le moins dou? d'entre nous lui consacre deux ou trois heures chaque semaine. Il acquerra une souplesse et une pr?cision suffisantes pour d?couvrir assez rapidement ce que les astronomes appelleraient <>, pour atteindre sa moyenne individuelle, qui est en m?me temps une moyenne g?n?rale, que seuls quelques bretteurs, quelques professionnels, quelques oisifs parviennent ? d?passer, au prix de longs, p?nibles et tr?s ingrats efforts.

Cette moyenne atteinte, nous pouvons confier notre vie ? la pointe de la fr?le mais redoutable lame. Elle est la magicienne qui ?tablit aussit?t des rapports nouveaux entre deux forces que nul n'aurait song? ? comparer. Elle permet au nain qui a raison de tenir t?te au colosse qui a tort. Elle conduit gracieusement sur des sommets plus clairs l'?norm face, Else gaze around and point, and curious place My hand on Mottoes, hung on high. One saith: "Beware, for he not with me scatterith." Its meaning comes to me with growth, like grace.

Ah, as a youngster, on its mother's arm, Seeing a hideous thing approaching night, Will not lay down its head and shut its eye, But will with look and lung express alarm-- My mind cries out in dread--when sea and sky Show dragons, tendencies that work thee harm.

O Freedom! Up to whose raised hand the seas Leap, playful lions, or with head and main Across their paws lie couchant--it is pain To see thee whose heart beats are God's decrees, And vital breathings are infinities, Now check thy heart and hold thy breath to gain The smile and plaudit of a depths with bane In finger tips, while fawning on their knees.

What! Think the tyrant, whose great soul is trade, Whose history, a crater, belching black And lurid, keeps glad Easter morning back From half the world--loves thee save to invade, As blackward planned? loves thee, along whose track March Human rights up to the stars parade?

NEMESIS

There where the Tyrant long has loomed, wreck-crowned, Are young and old hurled to the coast and blast. Frail are their ships; still, Sun, why glare aghast, Watching the billows monstering around? The soul of man was not born to be drowned. It mounts and mounts, till, at God's throne, at last, And freedom welcomes it with arms, sky-vast, As down it comes to meet Thrall and confound.

ALL STARS MERGED IN ONE

What is the Truth? The thought, the act, or cry, Recasting the Supreme Intelligence; All else is false. Look! where are stars so dense, That each has not the freedom of the sky? And, still, what peace, what glory, reigns on high! What! with the wisdom of the heavens, dispense? The Peace, for which our longings grow intense, Comes through the stars to earth, and but thereby.

What splits dark mid-night and gives earth a thrill? All stars merged into one--our Country's aim. It is a lightening, formed by God, to flame Across the ages and flash bolts to kill The stranglers, who the heart or spirit, main, Or choke black in the face, a People's Will.

LINCOLN'S LIGHTENING IN WILSON'S HANDS

Who is to rise and hurl God's flame world-wide, As Lincoln hurled it, setting free a race From Sphinx-shaped wrong--a beast with human face? That shattered, how our land rose glorified And, from the stars last laggard, soared, their guide! Oh, who can take Promethean Lincoln's place, To bring light where-so-ever he can trace A Human, with his rights to soul denied?

He must be one, not only to illume All ages, and not leave one region dim, But at no height, allow his senses swim, Or let mirages lure him with false bloom. Lo! Here one comes with all the virtues prim To hurl God's fire and end all human gloom.

'Tis Wilson takes God's flame from Lincoln's hand. This Princeton man,--who has outgrown the prince, A hundred years, and, in the ocean since, Seen with delight, Eternity expand And loom in glory from the despot's strand,-- Shapes fourteen dazzling bolts without a wince. He pauses. Why not hurl them and convince The world that, hence-forth, not one thrall shall stand?

What! Wilson's arm lacks strength to hurl the flame, God gave to Lincoln for the Human race? Look! Look! it falls. What! Gone? Quenched by dark space? No; it describes an orbit there, the same As comets, and regains its heavenly place For one to hurl it true, and doom Earth's Shame.

THE CATACLYSM

In Wilson we beheld and proudly hailed The World's Deliverer. In him, we saw A luminous being rise from earth and draw All lands above the clouds. We were regaled With justice cascades flow, long ice impaled Upon high mountains. Was not Nature's thaw From his heart heat for truth, Eternal Law? His was the heat of all the stars, he scaled.

Though his ascension was like Christ's, sublime With lift of continents and every isle, He, less than Christ, succumbed to Demon Guile. Oh, God, that he should drop his mountain climb Below sea-level, and let earth the while, Fall back and settle in Primeval Slime!

AN EPOCH'S ANGEL FALL

Judging from Wilson's virile virtue-voice, Whose whisper hushed Earth's Hum, were we not proud To have him cross the sea to speak aloud And, with a finger raised, hush battle noise, And lift all lands to Justice's equipoise? Oh, such his truth to God,--so oft avowed,-- A spirit thund'red from a luminous cloud: "This man crowns Lincoln's work. All Men! Rejoice."

THE AMERICA OF THE FUTURE

Our Country still is in the womb, dark Time. It shows life by its brisk and robust turns, Which thrill the Mother, Liberty, who yearns To see her man-child born. Oh, how sublime With genius, not of one, but every climb Where art forms beauty, or the spirit spurns The foul and spurious,--her desire, that burns Prenatally in him, to form him prime!

Oh People, all--Italian, Spanish, French, Dutch, English, Irish, German, Jew, and Greek-- What see you, as you climb the Future's Peak? Oh! no illusion. What looms there, shall wrench From life, all monsters out from Hell, to seek Dead consciences and plague earth with their stench.

Ascend, O Land of every Creed and Race! Not thy full image, in New England's brook, Nor in the South's lagoon; though there, a look Delights us with thy chubby, infant face. 'Tis seas of joy, that shorelessly replace The Ocean which, in time of old, forsook The prairies for the cloud, or spring in nook,-- That show thee, Grown, through God's abundant grace.

From East to West, how joy's high seas expand, Reflecting, not a foolish, mundane pride That, thinking it does all, sets God aside-- But Virtue which, with heart and head and hand, Works out God's purpose, with dear Christ for guide, And holy spirits Light to understand!

All Virtues from the longing of the soul; From wisdom, gained by sorrow through long ages; From inspiration of the bards, in rages That inter-marrying maniacs control A people's life, and drain its sea to shoal, And from the vision of sky-topping sages, Gasping for breath from rot in all its stages,-- Aye, these and new-born Genius loom there Whole.

Look, People! Little less than God's own size, Your virtues merge and, with speed God-ward, burn, An unconsuming sun, that at no turn In spiral flight, for still a grander rise, Lets night advance where human Rights still yearn, Except with great, new stars and dawning skys!

THE INEVITABLE

Behold two fleets, the one with woe for trail, The other, rapture. As they sight the strait, Through which but one can pass, Greed, urged by Hate, Drives Thraldom's crafts with help of steam and gale. They feel their way. The guns, with which they hale, Raise jets, that look tall elms from Hope, the gate, To Peace, the Palace; then, their speed is great, Manoeuvering fast to head off, or assail.

Drawing the sea up for his driving steam, Greed breaks all mirrors in his grand state room, That show him dark inevitable doom, Close hovering, and exults: "I am Supreme. When seas lack water for my funnel fume, I bid life send its every crimson stream."

What! in the darkness lowers boat after boat From Freedom's fleet, and each with lightening oars? Treasons to God and country are the rowers. They are the Gold and Hireling Brain, that gloat On conscience body with face down, afloat. Why hail they Greed, to run on menial chores From deck to deck, or to and from all shores? Why? To ensure the payment of a note.

Meanwhile, brisk Freedom's fleets with justice manned, And cosmic full momentum for their speed, Confront the crafts, fired up by fiendish Greed. A clash and--lo! they pass the strait and land, Leaving in smoldering heaps, like autumn's weed, The hulks of thrall along time's vultured strand.

REPTILES WITH WINGS

Are lust for Gold and Power not hideous spawn Of prehistoric reptiles, that had wings? Where e'er those crawled, they chawed all greening things And, when they mounted, how their lengths, full drawn, Basked barren in the sun before the dawn, Absorbing all its rays from budding Springs? These drain life's dawn and by impoverishings, Draw and reduce to pulp, frail Consciences.

Oh, yea, bewinged with legislative crime, They bask in sunlight e'er the east sky greys, And drag the soul of man from God's embrace Of rights and freedom. Oh, how long a time Shall reptiles, deadly to the Human race, Be let grow wings and heavenward trail their slime?

THE OUTLAWS OF OUR COUNTRY

The outlaws in our country are the wretches, Who wreck the legislatures with their gold, And with the ruins, form a high stronghold To sally from, to what good nature fetches From God to man. What though fine graphic sketches In magazines show them with shoulders bold Against the nights flood-gates of dark and cold? All effort is but life in death-throw stretches.

They are the outlaws, who stop Nature's train And take its corn and coal for selfish use; Then, put their shoulders to Night's gate, to loose Its hinges for a forty-day dark rain, To drown all life, that they, like Noah, may cruise Through thick drifts of the dead in heart and brain.

O heart and brain, who see the father load His train with food, not for the few, but all, And hear train-whistlings in March winds, jay call And ground-hog sniffs! Haste out, for from the road That leads to every Industry's abode, The trust that, bat-eyed, comes out at night-fall, Now moves the tracks inside his private wall, Claiming all trains from God a debt long owed.

O heart and brain, it rest with you, how long The legislative wreckers shall prevail. Ye have the power to balk them. Why then, fail? Regain your legislatures. Man them strong And drive thence all sleek hounds, trust-trained to trail Safe outlaws' paths to fastnesses of wrong.

THE PRESS

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet