XI
Suppose a race (the vision first I saw
Among the dark stern reasonings of Kant)
Resolved its past for ever to recant,
And from its island borders to withdraw:
No man shall move—I heard that doom with awe—
Until the wretched, last, lorn miscreant
By shameful death full reparation grant
To the offended majesty of Law.
So as man’s coming race prepares to leave
The Island of its Present, where to-day
Europe in crime lies sweltering, and to cleave
A fresh path through the portals of the Day,
At History’s bar the nations duly lined
Await their judgment. Some remain behind.
Hesepe, 7th July