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RADA




BY THE SAME AUTHOR


 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN
 DRAKE
 THE FOREST OF WILD THYME
 FORTY SINGING SEAMEN
 THE ENCHANTED ISLAND
 THE WINE PRESS


[Illustration: THE BAYONETS]




                                 RADA

                        A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE

                                  BY

                             ALFRED NOYES

                  WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER GOYA

                          METHUEN & CO. LTD.
                         36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                LONDON


_First Published in 1915_




DEDICATION


    Thou whose deep ways are in the sea,
      Whose footsteps are not known,
    To-night a world that turned from Thee
      Is waiting--at Thy Throne.

    The towering Babels that we raised
      Where scoffing sophists brawl,
    The little Antichrists we praised--
      The night is on them all.

    The fool hath said... The fool hath said...
      And we, who deemed him wise,
    We, who believed that Thou wast dead,
      How should we seek Thine eyes?

    How should we seek to Thee for power,
      Who scorned Thee yesterday?
    How should we kneel in this dread hour?
      Lord, teach us how to pray.

    Grant us the single heart once more
      That mocks no sacred thing,
    The Sword of Truth our fathers wore
      When Thou wast Lord and King.

    Let darkness unto darkness tell
      Our deep unspoken prayer;
    For, while our souls in darkness dwell,
      We know that Thou art there.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


 THE BAYONETS                    _Frontispiece_

                                    FACING PAGE

 OVER THE JAWS OF THE CROWD                  16

 THE OLD DANCE OF CHARLATANS AND BEASTS      22

 THE VAMPIRE                                 56

_Reproduced from etchings by Goya_




PRELUDE


    Under which banner? It was night
      Beyond all nights that ever were.
    The Cross was broken. Blood-stained Might
      Moved like a tiger from its lair,
    And all that heaven had died to quell
    Awoke, and mingled earth with hell.

    For Europe, if it held a creed,
      Held it thro' custom, not thro' faith.
    Chaos returned in dream and deed,
      Right was a legend--Love, a wraith;
    And That from which the world began
    Was less than even the best in man.

    God in the image of a snake
      Dethroned that dream, too fond, too blind,
    The man-shaped God whose heart could break,
      Live, die and triumph with mankind;
    A Super-snake, a Juggernaut,
    Dethroned the Highest of human thought.

    Choose, England! For the eternal foe
      Within thee, as without, grew strong,
    By many a super-subtle blow
      Blurring the lines of right and wrong
    In Art and Thought, till nought seemed true
    But that soul-slaughtering cry of _New!_

    New wreckage of the shrines we made
      Thro' centuries of forgotten tears....
    We knew not where their hands had laid
      Our Master. Twice a thousand years
    Had dulled the uncapricious sun.
    Manifold worlds obscured the One;

    Obscured the reign of Law, our stay,
      Our compass thro' the uncharted sea,
    The one sure light, the one sure way,
      The one firm base of Liberty;
    The one firm road that men have trod
    Thro' Chaos to the Throne of God.

    _Choose ye!_ A hundred legions cried
      Dishonour, or the instant sword!
    Ye chose. Ye met that blood-stained tide,
      A little kingdom kept its word;
    And, dying, cried across the night,
    _Hear us, O earth, we chose the Right._

    Whose is the victory? Though ye stood
      Alone against the unmeasured foe,
    By all the tears, by all the blood,
      That flowed, and have not ceased to flow,
    By all the legions that ye hurled
    Back thro' the thunder-shaken world;

    By the old that have not where to rest,
      By lands laid waste and hearths defiled,
    By every lacerated breast,
      And every mutilated child,
    Whose is the victory? Answer, ye
    Who, dying, smiled at tyranny:--

    _Under the sky's triumphal arch
      The glories of the dawn begin.
    Our dead, our shadowy armies, march
      E'en