From the green Cycadeæn ages,
From the gloom of the Cambrian fen,
From the days of the mighty mammoth
And the years of the dog-toothed men,
I’ve lifted ye clear to the summits--
A toy of the upper air--
I’ve dashed ye down to the pits again
To laugh at your despair.
I beckoned across the chasm
To watch ye stumble in,
And never a light to left or right
On the crags of shame and sin.
I called ye over mountains--
I called ye over seas--
And ye came in hosts from all the coasts
To taste of the tainted breeze.
Honor and King and Country--
Sire and Seed and God--
Ye have given all to the Siren’s call
When I but chose to nod.
Ye have given all to the Siren’s call--
To the mock of the Siren’s strain--
Ye have made a choice and never a voice
May bid ye back again.