Friday Poetry Corner

Because we all need some culture in our lives. No other reason. None at all.

THE WRATH OF THE AWAKENED SAXON
by Rudyard Kipling

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late,
With long arrears to make good,
When the Saxon began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy — willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the Saxon began to hate.

Their voices were even and low.
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd.
It was not taught by the state.
No man spoke it aloud
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not suddently bred.
It will not swiftly abate.
Through the chilled years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the Saxon began to hate.

“This destiny does not tire, nor can it be broken, and its mantle of
strength descends upon those in its service.” – Francis Parker Yockey,
IMPERIUM

Loading Likes...

7 thoughts on “Friday Poetry Corner

  1. MBlanc46

    Hating is so draining. I wish that we could all just get along. But the time for that is way past. It’s getting to be time to work up some real anger and start breaking things.

    1. Severian Post author

      I wish ill on no group, as a group, except the White Leftists who are responsible for all this. But they quite clearly hate — actually HATE — me and mine, so… well, now it’s mutual.

      You’d think that even a generation raised on Common Core math would realize that 65% is bigger than 14%, but… well, the cited author has another poem I like, called “The Gods of the Copybook Headings.” It’s about how Reality always reasserts itself. I’m afraid we’re all going to have to learn those lessons again, one way or the other.

  2. Pickle Rick

    “ In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
    As modest stillness and humility,
    But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
    Then imitate the action of the tiger:
    Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
    Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage,
    Then lend the eye a terrible aspect..Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
    Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
    To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
    Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof,
    Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought
    And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
    Dishonor not your mothers. Now attest
    That those whom you called fathers did beget you.
    Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
    and teach them how to war…”

  3. contrariandutchman

    Since its poetry Friday, this passage from Kipling seemsapporpriate as well:

    Swiftly these pulled down the walls that their fathers had made them –
    The impregnable ramparts of old, they razed and relaid them
    As playgrounds of pleasure and leisure, with limitless entries,
    And havens of rest for the wastrels where once walked the sentries;
    And because there was need of more pay for the shouters and marchers,
    They disbanded in face of their foemen their yeomen and archers.
    They replied to their well-wishers’ fears – to their enemies laughter,
    Saying: “Peace! We have fashioned a God Which shall save us hereafter.
    We ascribe all dominion to man in his factions conferring,
    And have given to numbers the Name of the Wisdom unerring.”

  4. Maus

    At times like this, I am torn between being a Jonah moping outside Nineveh waiting for the fire from heaven to scour an impious people and an Elijah, who realized that God comes not as a firestorm but as a refreshing breeze to those who wait patiently in their cave in the desert. I am reminded of the Carthusian motto: Stat crux dum volvitur orbis. The cross is steady while the world is turning. As Jesus said in the garden of Gethsemane, on the threshold of his coming agony and death: Not my will, but thine be done.

  5. The Kaigat Of Wands

    And, going back to some of the comments on Crispus Attucks – from Macauley:

    “Then out spake brave Horatius,
    The Captain of the Gate:
    To every man upon this earth
    Death cometh soon or late.
    And how can man die better
    Than facing fearful odds,
    For the ashes of his fathers,
    And the temples of his gods”

Comments are closed.