Poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell

John Bohun Martin

Keeping his word, the promised Roman kept
Enough of worded breath to live till now.
Our Regulus was free of plighted vow
Or tacit debt: skies fell, seas leapt, storms swept;
Death yawned: with a mere step he might have stept
To life. But the House-master would know how
To do the master's honours; and did know,
And did them to the hour of rest, and slept
The last of all his house. Oh, thou heart's-core
Of Truth, how will the nations sentence thee?
Hark! as loud Europe cries 'Could man do more?'
Great England lifts her head from her distress,
And answers 'But could Englishman do less?'
Ah England! goddess of the years to be! 

1. To James Y. Simpson
2. Czar Nicholas
3. Liberty to M. Le Diplomate
4. The Market-Wife's Song
5. The Olive

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