Poems (Cook)/Honesty—a fragment

by Eliza Cook

HONESTY—A FRAGMENT.

I tell you, sir, that Honesty is naught
But a mere word bandied by men's lips;
It is a quality that does insure
Hate's venom'd arrows, and affords a prey
For human bloodhounds to hunt down to death.
There have been honest men—there may be such.
Some have been bold enough to breathe aloud
Their own peculiar homage to the God
Who form'd at first, and who at last shall judge.
They did avow their faith with steady zeal,
Nor let their breast be warp'd by bribe or threat.
What were the guerdons of such honest tongues?
The chain, the rack, the fagot, and the stake:
And the sharp crackling of consuming bones,
Commingled with the yell of saintly fiends,
Served as encouragement to speak the truth.

Some have been honest—rarely; strangely so;
In that Elysium of craft—a Court.
With most presuming speech the patriot one
Has offered stern advice to sceptred fools,
Serving a people rather than a king:
And what the thanks he gain'd? A traitor's name
At least; perchance the secret poison-cup
Or public scaffold, teaching senators
A glorious lesson in the book of—truth.

Go, face the hungry lion in his path,
Tread on the serpent in his torpid coil,
And less of risk will wait upon such deed
Than on the effort that shall seek to tear
The specious mask from gilded roguery.
Oh! 'tis a goodly thing this Honesty!
An estimable feature in a watchdog;
And there repaid and valued; but the man
Who takes up Candour for his standard word,
Scorning the Proteus shapes of mean dissemblance,
Acts just as wisely as the soldier does
Who draws his sword and flings away his shield.

Try ye how uncloak'd Honesty will thrive
With close and kindred friends or passing strangers.
Confess your errors with a ready grace;
Own you have sins, and tell how Passion throbs
With earnest pulse at some forbidden shrine;
Proclaim how dark Revenge excites your soul;
Betray the latent spring of selfish Pride
That moves the blazon'd hand of Charity:
Publish the flaws and blots that "flesh is heir to;"
Speak out—appear the chequer'd thing you are;
And see if Mercy will befriend your cause,
Or any voice commend your guileless tongue.
No, no. The herd around, who hide, perchance,
More guilt under more cunning, will pounce down,
Like hungry hawks upon a wandering bird;
They will condemn the heart that's frank enough
To speak its folly, and yet babble forth
"An honest man's the noblest work of God."

Oh, Honesty thou art indeed a gem.
Of matchless brilliancy; but he who wears thee
Finds the pure jewel is a target mark
For every bolt that worldly knaves can shoot;
Till, worn and harassed by the goading strife,
He flings the lustre from his struggling breast,
And walks the road of life like all wise men,
A flattering trickster. He must learn to look
All smiles and courtesy to those above him;
Be their ways good or evil. He must give
The hand of Friendship where he may despise;
Woo the rich fool, and meet the titled villain
With eulogistic greeting and glad aspect.
He must be all things for all purposes;
Veer with Opinion's compass, let it point
Wherever it may, and breathe soft eloquence
In praise of even that he inly loathes.

'Tis sad, but 'tis most true—that Honesty
Is like the phantom sprites in grandams' tales—
Much oftener prated of than seen; and 'tis
As true and sad, that it is safer far
To sin, like Lucifer, in wily guise;
Than simply err, and tell the wrong we do.