THE POET’S DREM
PERCY BUSSHE SHELLY
On a poet’s lips I slept
Dreaming like a love-adept
In the sound his breathing kept;
Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,
But feeds on the aerial kisses
Of shapes that haunt thought’s wildernesses.
He will watch from dawn to loom
The lake reflected sun illume
The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom,
Nor heed nor see what things they be;
But from these create he can
Forms more real than living man,
Nurslings of immortality!
বুধবার, ২১ এপ্রিল, ২০১০
THE INVITATION
THE INVITATION
PERCY BUSSHE SHELLY
Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn spring
Though the winter wandering,
Found, it seems the halcyon Morn
To hoar February;
Bending frum Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kiss’d the forehead of the Earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams he free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May.
Strew’d flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom bhou smiles, dear.
Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs-
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another’s mind,
While the touch of Nature’s art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
Radiant Sister of the Day
Awake! Arise! And come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
And the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sandhills of the sea;
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets,
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at out feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.
PERCY BUSSHE SHELLY
Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn spring
Though the winter wandering,
Found, it seems the halcyon Morn
To hoar February;
Bending frum Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kiss’d the forehead of the Earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams he free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May.
Strew’d flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom bhou smiles, dear.
Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs-
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another’s mind,
While the touch of Nature’s art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
Radiant Sister of the Day
Awake! Arise! And come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
And the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sandhills of the sea;
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets,
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at out feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.
LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR
LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR
PERCY BUSSHE SHELLY
I arise from drams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low
And the stars are shining bright;
I arise from dreams of thee,
And spirit I my feet
Has led me- who knows how?
To thy chamber window sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale’s complaint
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O beloved as thou art!
O lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale
My cheek is cold and white alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;
O! Press it close to thine again
Where it will break at last.
Done
PERCY BUSSHE SHELLY
I arise from drams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low
And the stars are shining bright;
I arise from dreams of thee,
And spirit I my feet
Has led me- who knows how?
To thy chamber window sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale’s complaint
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O beloved as thou art!
O lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale
My cheek is cold and white alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;
O! Press it close to thine again
Where it will break at last.
Done
THE RIDER AT THE GATE
THE RIDER AT THE GATE
John Masefield
A windy night was blowing on Rome,
The cressets guttered on Caesar’s home,
The fish-boats, moored at the bridge, were breaking
The rush of the river to yellow from.
The hinges whine to the shutters shaking,
When clip-clop-clep came a horse hoof raking.
The stones of the rode at Caesar’s gate:
The spear butts jarred at the guard’s awaking.
“Who goes there?” said the guard at the gate.
“What is the news, that you ride so late?”
News most pressing, that must be spoken
To Caesar alone, and that cannot wall.”
The Caesar sleeps: you must show a token
That the news and whence do you come ?
For no light cause may his sleep be broken.”
“Out of the dark of the sands I come.
From the dark of death , with news for Rome.
A word so fell that it must be uttered
Though it strike the soul of the Caesar dumb.”
Caesar turned in his bed and muttered.
With a struggle for breath the lamp flame guttered:
Calpurnia heard her husband moan:
“The house is falling.
The beaten men come into their own.”
“Speak your word,” said the guard at the gate;
“Yes but bear it to Caesar straight;
Say, “ you murderer’s knives are honing.
Your killer’s gang is lying in wait.”
“Out of the wind that is blowing and moaning,
Through the city palace and the country loaning,
I cry For world’s sake, Caesar, beware,
And take this warning as my atoning.
“Beware of the Court of the palace stair,
Of the downcast friend who speaks so fair,
Keep from the senate, for Death is going
On many men’s feet to meet you there.
“I who am dead, have ways of knowing
Of the crop of death that the quick are sowing
I, who was Pompey, cry it aloud
From the dark of death from the wind blowing,
, who was Pompey, once was proud,
Now I lie in the sand without a shroud;
I cry to Caesar out of my pain;
Caesar, beware your death is vowed.
The light grew grey on the window-pane
The windcocks swung in a burst of rain,
The window of Caesar flung unshuttered,
The horse-hoofs died into wind again,
Caesar turned in his bed and muttered,
With a struggled for breath the lamp-flame guttered!
Calpurnia heard her husband moan;
“The house is falling
The beaten men come into their own.”
John Masefield
A windy night was blowing on Rome,
The cressets guttered on Caesar’s home,
The fish-boats, moored at the bridge, were breaking
The rush of the river to yellow from.
The hinges whine to the shutters shaking,
When clip-clop-clep came a horse hoof raking.
The stones of the rode at Caesar’s gate:
The spear butts jarred at the guard’s awaking.
“Who goes there?” said the guard at the gate.
“What is the news, that you ride so late?”
News most pressing, that must be spoken
To Caesar alone, and that cannot wall.”
The Caesar sleeps: you must show a token
That the news and whence do you come ?
For no light cause may his sleep be broken.”
“Out of the dark of the sands I come.
From the dark of death , with news for Rome.
A word so fell that it must be uttered
Though it strike the soul of the Caesar dumb.”
Caesar turned in his bed and muttered.
With a struggle for breath the lamp flame guttered:
Calpurnia heard her husband moan:
“The house is falling.
The beaten men come into their own.”
“Speak your word,” said the guard at the gate;
“Yes but bear it to Caesar straight;
Say, “ you murderer’s knives are honing.
Your killer’s gang is lying in wait.”
“Out of the wind that is blowing and moaning,
Through the city palace and the country loaning,
I cry For world’s sake, Caesar, beware,
And take this warning as my atoning.
“Beware of the Court of the palace stair,
Of the downcast friend who speaks so fair,
Keep from the senate, for Death is going
On many men’s feet to meet you there.
“I who am dead, have ways of knowing
Of the crop of death that the quick are sowing
I, who was Pompey, cry it aloud
From the dark of death from the wind blowing,
, who was Pompey, once was proud,
Now I lie in the sand without a shroud;
I cry to Caesar out of my pain;
Caesar, beware your death is vowed.
The light grew grey on the window-pane
The windcocks swung in a burst of rain,
The window of Caesar flung unshuttered,
The horse-hoofs died into wind again,
Caesar turned in his bed and muttered,
With a struggled for breath the lamp-flame guttered!
Calpurnia heard her husband moan;
“The house is falling
The beaten men come into their own.”
LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR
LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR
PERCY BUSSHE SHELLY
I arise from drams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low
And the stars are shining bright;
I arise from dreams of thee,
And spirit I my feet
Has led me- who knows how?
To thy chamber window sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale’s complaint
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O beloved as thou art!
O lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale
My cheek is cold and white alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;
O! Press it close to thine again
Where it will break at last.
PERCY BUSSHE SHELLY
I arise from drams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low
And the stars are shining bright;
I arise from dreams of thee,
And spirit I my feet
Has led me- who knows how?
To thy chamber window sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale’s complaint
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O beloved as thou art!
O lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale
My cheek is cold and white alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;
O! Press it close to thine again
Where it will break at last.
THE PORTER AND THE THREE GIRLS OF BAGHDAD
THE PORTER AND THE THREE GIRLS OF BAGHDAD
N. J. DAWOOD
Once upon a time there lived in the city of Baghdad a young bachelor who was by trade a porter.
One day, as he sat in the marker-place leaning idly against his basket, a young woman, dressed in rare silks and cloaked in a gold-embroidered mantle of Mosul brocade, stopped before him and gently raised her veil. Beneath it there showed dark eyes with long lashes and lineaments of perfect beauty.
“Life up your basket, porter,” she said in a sweet voice, “and follow me.”
At once the porter took up his basket and followed her, thinking to himself; “ This is indeed a blessed day!” Until she stopped at the door of a house and knocked. The door was opened by a Christian, who gave her, in return for a piece of gold, a measure of olives and two casks of wine. These she put into the basket and said to the porter, “Follow me.”
“By Allah,” thought the porter, “this is surely my lucky day!”
He took up his basket and followed her until she stopped at a fruiterer’s, where she bought Syrian apples an Othmani quinces, Peaches from and Sultani citrons, sweet-scented myrtle and henna flowers, chamomile, anemones, violets, sweet-briar and pomegranate-blossom.
All these she put into the basket and again said to the porter, “Follow me.”
She stopped at a butcher’s stall and said to him “cut me ten pounds of meat.” She wrapped the meat in a large banana-leaf and putting it into the basket, ordered the porter to follow her. She next made her way to a grocer’s shop, where she bought pistachios, nuts and raisins, and then to a confectioner’s where she chose a platter of dainty sweetmeats stuffed with almonds and flavored with musk; lemon cakes, pastry, crescents. Zainab’s combs and honey tarts. And all these she placed into the porter’s basket.
“Had you told me,” observed the porter, “ I would have brought a mule to carry all these things!”
The young woman smiled at the porter’s remark and bidding him bold his tongue, stopped at a perfume-seller’s and bought tem different essences, rose-water, willow water and musk-rose dew, tow loaves of sugar, a sprinkling bottle, frankincense, aloe-wood, ambergris and candles of Alexandrine followed her until she came to a magnificent, lofty house facing a great courtyard. Its doors were of ebony plated with gold.
N. J. DAWOOD
Once upon a time there lived in the city of Baghdad a young bachelor who was by trade a porter.
One day, as he sat in the marker-place leaning idly against his basket, a young woman, dressed in rare silks and cloaked in a gold-embroidered mantle of Mosul brocade, stopped before him and gently raised her veil. Beneath it there showed dark eyes with long lashes and lineaments of perfect beauty.
“Life up your basket, porter,” she said in a sweet voice, “and follow me.”
At once the porter took up his basket and followed her, thinking to himself; “ This is indeed a blessed day!” Until she stopped at the door of a house and knocked. The door was opened by a Christian, who gave her, in return for a piece of gold, a measure of olives and two casks of wine. These she put into the basket and said to the porter, “Follow me.”
“By Allah,” thought the porter, “this is surely my lucky day!”
He took up his basket and followed her until she stopped at a fruiterer’s, where she bought Syrian apples an Othmani quinces, Peaches from and Sultani citrons, sweet-scented myrtle and henna flowers, chamomile, anemones, violets, sweet-briar and pomegranate-blossom.
All these she put into the basket and again said to the porter, “Follow me.”
She stopped at a butcher’s stall and said to him “cut me ten pounds of meat.” She wrapped the meat in a large banana-leaf and putting it into the basket, ordered the porter to follow her. She next made her way to a grocer’s shop, where she bought pistachios, nuts and raisins, and then to a confectioner’s where she chose a platter of dainty sweetmeats stuffed with almonds and flavored with musk; lemon cakes, pastry, crescents. Zainab’s combs and honey tarts. And all these she placed into the porter’s basket.
“Had you told me,” observed the porter, “ I would have brought a mule to carry all these things!”
The young woman smiled at the porter’s remark and bidding him bold his tongue, stopped at a perfume-seller’s and bought tem different essences, rose-water, willow water and musk-rose dew, tow loaves of sugar, a sprinkling bottle, frankincense, aloe-wood, ambergris and candles of Alexandrine followed her until she came to a magnificent, lofty house facing a great courtyard. Its doors were of ebony plated with gold.
A HOMAGE TO PRESIDET ROOSEVELT
A HOMAGE TO PRESIDET ROOSEVELT
WINSTON S. CHURCHILL
My friendship with the great men to whose work and fame we pay our tribute today began and ripened during this war. I had met him but only for a few minutes after the close of the last war and as soon as I went to the Admiralty in September 1939, he telegraphed inviting me to correspond with him direct on naval or other matters at any time I felt inclined. Havein obtained the permission of the Prime Minister. I did so Knowing President Roosevelt’s keen interest in sea warfare, I furnished him with a stream of information about our naval affairs and about the various actions including especially the action of the pate River, which lighted the first gloomy winter of the war.
When I become prime Minister and the war broke out in all its hideous fury when our own life and survival hung in the balance, I was already in a position to telegraph to the President on terms of an association which had become most intimate and to me most agreeable. This continued through all the ups and downs of the world struggle until Thursday last, when I received my last messages from him. These messages showed on falling off in his accustomed clear vision and vigor upon perplexing and complicated matters. I may mention that this correspondence which of course was greatly increased after the United States entry into war comprises to and for between us, over 1,700 messages. Many of these were lengthy messages and the majority dealt with those more difficult points which come to be discussed upon the level of Heads of Governments only after official solutions have not been reached at other stages. To this correspondence there must be added our none meetings – at Tehran, two at Quebec and last of all at Yalta, comprising in all about 120 days of close personal contact; during a great part of which I stayed with him at the White House or at his home at Hyde Park or on his retreat in the Blue Mountains which he called Shangri-la.
I conceived and admiration for him as a statesmen a man of affairs and a war leader. I felt the utmost confidence in his upright inspiring character and outlook and a personal regard-affection I must say for him beyond my power to express today. His love of his own country, his respect for its constitution, his power of gauging the tides and currents of its mobile public opinion, were always evident, but added to these were the beatings of that generous heart which was always stirred to anger and to action by spectacles of aggression and oppression by the strong against the weak. It is indeed a loss a biter loss to humanity that those heart-beats are stilled for ever.
President Roosevelt’s physical afflictions lay heavily upon him. It was a marvel that he bore up against it through all the many years of tumult and storm. Not one man in ten millions, stricken and crippled as he was, would have attempted to plunge into a life of physical and mental exertion and of herd ceaseless political controversy. Not one in ten millions would have tried, not one in a generation would have succeeded, not only in entering this sphere, not only in acting vehemently in it, but in becoming indisputable master of the scene. In this extraordinary effort of the spirit over the flesh, of will-power over physical infirmity, he was inspired and sustained by that noble woman his devoted wife whose high ideals matched in with his own, and to whom the deep and respectful sympathy of the House of Commons flows out today in all fullness.
There is no doubt that the President foresaw the great dangers closing in upon the pre-war world with far more prescience then most well-informed people on either side of the Atlantic, and that he urged forward with all the power such precautionary military preparations as peacetime opinion in the United States could be brought to accept. There never was a moment’s doubt as the quarrel opened upon which side his sympathies lay. The fall of France and what seemed to most people outside this inland the impending destruction of Great Britain, were to him an agony, although he never lost faith in us. They were an agony to him not only on account of Europe, but because of the serious perils to which the United States herself would have been exposed had we been overwhelmed or the survivors cast down under the German yoke. The bearing of the British nation at that time of stress, when we were all alone, filled him and vast numbers of his countrymen with the warmest sentiments towards our people. He and they felt the blitz of the stern winter of 1940-41, when Hitler set himself to rub out the cities of our country, as much as any of us did, and perhaps more indeed, for imagination is often more torturing than reality. There is no doubt that the bearing of the British and above all, of the Londoners, kindled fires American bosoms far harder to quench than the conflagrations from which we were suffering. There was also at that time, in spite of General Wavell’s victories- all the more, indeed, because of the reinforcements which were sent from this country to him-the apprehension widespread in the United Stares that we should e invaded by Germany after the fullest preparation in the spring of 1941. it was in February that the president sent to England the late Mr. Wendell Willkie, who although a political rival and an opposing candidate, felt as he did on many important points, Mr. Willkie brought a letter from Mr. Roosevelt, which the president had written in his own hand and this letter contained the famous limes of Longfellow;
“…………………..Sail on O ship of State!
Sail in, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!”
At about that same time he devised the extraordinary measure of assistance called lend- Lease, which will stand forth as the most unselfish and unsordid financial act of any country in all history. The effect of this was greatly to increase British fighting power and for all the purposes of the war-effort to make us as it were a much more numerous community. In that antumn I met the president for the first time during the war at Argentina in Newfoundland, and together we drew up the Declaration which has since been called the Atlantic Charter and which will I trust long remain a guide fir both our peoples and for other peoples of the world.
All this time in deep and dark and deadly secrecy, the Japanese were preparing g their act of treachery and greed. When next we met in Washngton, japan, Germany and Italy had declared war upon the United Statrtes and both our countries were in arms, shoulder to shoulder. Since then we have advanced over the land and over the sea through many difficulties and disappointment, but always with a broadening measure of success, I need not dwell upon the series of great operations which have taken place in the Western Hemisphere, to say nothing of that other immense war proceeding on the other side of the world. Nor need I speak of the plans which we made with our great Ally, Russia, at Tehran, for these have now been carried out for all the world to see.
But at Yalta I noticed that the president was ailing. His captivating smile, his gay and charming manner, had not deserted him, but his face had a transparency, an air of purification, and often there was a far-way look in his eyes. When I took my leave of him in Alexandria harbour I must confess that I had an indefinable sense of fear that his health and his strength were on the ebb. But nothing altered his inflexible sense of duty. To the end he faced his innumerable tasks unflinching. One of the tasks of the president is to sign, may be, a hundred or two State papers with his own hand everyday, commissions and so forth. All this he continued to carry out with the utmost strictness. When death came suddenly upon him “ he had finished his mail.” That portion of his day’s work was done. As the saying goes, he died in harness, and we may well say in battle harness, like his soldiers sailors and airmen, who side by side with ours are carrying on their task to the end all over the world. What an enviable death was his! He had brought his country through the worst of its perils and the heaviest of its toil. Victory had cast its sure and steady beam upon him.
In the days of peace he had broadened and stabilized the foundations of American life and union. In war he had raised the strength, might and glory of the great Republic to a height never attained by any nation in history. With her left had she was leading the advance of the conquering Allied Armies into the heart of Germany and with her right. On the other side of the globe, she was irresistibly and swiftly breaking up the power of Japan and all the time ships, munitions, supplies, and food of every kind were aiding on a gigantic scale her Allies, great and small, in the course of the long struggle.
But all this was no more than worldly power and grandeur, had it not been that the causes of human freedom and of social justice to which so much of his life had been given, added a luster to this power and pomp and warlike might, a luster which will long be discernible among men. He has left behind him a band of resolute and able men handling the numerous interrelated parts of the vast American war machine. He has left a successor who comes forward with firm step and sure conviction to carry on the task its appointed end. For us, it remains only to say that in Franklin Roosevelt there died the greatest American friend we have ever known, and the greatest champion of freedom who has ever brought help and comfort from the new world to the old.
WINSTON S. CHURCHILL
My friendship with the great men to whose work and fame we pay our tribute today began and ripened during this war. I had met him but only for a few minutes after the close of the last war and as soon as I went to the Admiralty in September 1939, he telegraphed inviting me to correspond with him direct on naval or other matters at any time I felt inclined. Havein obtained the permission of the Prime Minister. I did so Knowing President Roosevelt’s keen interest in sea warfare, I furnished him with a stream of information about our naval affairs and about the various actions including especially the action of the pate River, which lighted the first gloomy winter of the war.
When I become prime Minister and the war broke out in all its hideous fury when our own life and survival hung in the balance, I was already in a position to telegraph to the President on terms of an association which had become most intimate and to me most agreeable. This continued through all the ups and downs of the world struggle until Thursday last, when I received my last messages from him. These messages showed on falling off in his accustomed clear vision and vigor upon perplexing and complicated matters. I may mention that this correspondence which of course was greatly increased after the United States entry into war comprises to and for between us, over 1,700 messages. Many of these were lengthy messages and the majority dealt with those more difficult points which come to be discussed upon the level of Heads of Governments only after official solutions have not been reached at other stages. To this correspondence there must be added our none meetings – at Tehran, two at Quebec and last of all at Yalta, comprising in all about 120 days of close personal contact; during a great part of which I stayed with him at the White House or at his home at Hyde Park or on his retreat in the Blue Mountains which he called Shangri-la.
I conceived and admiration for him as a statesmen a man of affairs and a war leader. I felt the utmost confidence in his upright inspiring character and outlook and a personal regard-affection I must say for him beyond my power to express today. His love of his own country, his respect for its constitution, his power of gauging the tides and currents of its mobile public opinion, were always evident, but added to these were the beatings of that generous heart which was always stirred to anger and to action by spectacles of aggression and oppression by the strong against the weak. It is indeed a loss a biter loss to humanity that those heart-beats are stilled for ever.
President Roosevelt’s physical afflictions lay heavily upon him. It was a marvel that he bore up against it through all the many years of tumult and storm. Not one man in ten millions, stricken and crippled as he was, would have attempted to plunge into a life of physical and mental exertion and of herd ceaseless political controversy. Not one in ten millions would have tried, not one in a generation would have succeeded, not only in entering this sphere, not only in acting vehemently in it, but in becoming indisputable master of the scene. In this extraordinary effort of the spirit over the flesh, of will-power over physical infirmity, he was inspired and sustained by that noble woman his devoted wife whose high ideals matched in with his own, and to whom the deep and respectful sympathy of the House of Commons flows out today in all fullness.
There is no doubt that the President foresaw the great dangers closing in upon the pre-war world with far more prescience then most well-informed people on either side of the Atlantic, and that he urged forward with all the power such precautionary military preparations as peacetime opinion in the United States could be brought to accept. There never was a moment’s doubt as the quarrel opened upon which side his sympathies lay. The fall of France and what seemed to most people outside this inland the impending destruction of Great Britain, were to him an agony, although he never lost faith in us. They were an agony to him not only on account of Europe, but because of the serious perils to which the United States herself would have been exposed had we been overwhelmed or the survivors cast down under the German yoke. The bearing of the British nation at that time of stress, when we were all alone, filled him and vast numbers of his countrymen with the warmest sentiments towards our people. He and they felt the blitz of the stern winter of 1940-41, when Hitler set himself to rub out the cities of our country, as much as any of us did, and perhaps more indeed, for imagination is often more torturing than reality. There is no doubt that the bearing of the British and above all, of the Londoners, kindled fires American bosoms far harder to quench than the conflagrations from which we were suffering. There was also at that time, in spite of General Wavell’s victories- all the more, indeed, because of the reinforcements which were sent from this country to him-the apprehension widespread in the United Stares that we should e invaded by Germany after the fullest preparation in the spring of 1941. it was in February that the president sent to England the late Mr. Wendell Willkie, who although a political rival and an opposing candidate, felt as he did on many important points, Mr. Willkie brought a letter from Mr. Roosevelt, which the president had written in his own hand and this letter contained the famous limes of Longfellow;
“…………………..Sail on O ship of State!
Sail in, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!”
At about that same time he devised the extraordinary measure of assistance called lend- Lease, which will stand forth as the most unselfish and unsordid financial act of any country in all history. The effect of this was greatly to increase British fighting power and for all the purposes of the war-effort to make us as it were a much more numerous community. In that antumn I met the president for the first time during the war at Argentina in Newfoundland, and together we drew up the Declaration which has since been called the Atlantic Charter and which will I trust long remain a guide fir both our peoples and for other peoples of the world.
All this time in deep and dark and deadly secrecy, the Japanese were preparing g their act of treachery and greed. When next we met in Washngton, japan, Germany and Italy had declared war upon the United Statrtes and both our countries were in arms, shoulder to shoulder. Since then we have advanced over the land and over the sea through many difficulties and disappointment, but always with a broadening measure of success, I need not dwell upon the series of great operations which have taken place in the Western Hemisphere, to say nothing of that other immense war proceeding on the other side of the world. Nor need I speak of the plans which we made with our great Ally, Russia, at Tehran, for these have now been carried out for all the world to see.
But at Yalta I noticed that the president was ailing. His captivating smile, his gay and charming manner, had not deserted him, but his face had a transparency, an air of purification, and often there was a far-way look in his eyes. When I took my leave of him in Alexandria harbour I must confess that I had an indefinable sense of fear that his health and his strength were on the ebb. But nothing altered his inflexible sense of duty. To the end he faced his innumerable tasks unflinching. One of the tasks of the president is to sign, may be, a hundred or two State papers with his own hand everyday, commissions and so forth. All this he continued to carry out with the utmost strictness. When death came suddenly upon him “ he had finished his mail.” That portion of his day’s work was done. As the saying goes, he died in harness, and we may well say in battle harness, like his soldiers sailors and airmen, who side by side with ours are carrying on their task to the end all over the world. What an enviable death was his! He had brought his country through the worst of its perils and the heaviest of its toil. Victory had cast its sure and steady beam upon him.
In the days of peace he had broadened and stabilized the foundations of American life and union. In war he had raised the strength, might and glory of the great Republic to a height never attained by any nation in history. With her left had she was leading the advance of the conquering Allied Armies into the heart of Germany and with her right. On the other side of the globe, she was irresistibly and swiftly breaking up the power of Japan and all the time ships, munitions, supplies, and food of every kind were aiding on a gigantic scale her Allies, great and small, in the course of the long struggle.
But all this was no more than worldly power and grandeur, had it not been that the causes of human freedom and of social justice to which so much of his life had been given, added a luster to this power and pomp and warlike might, a luster which will long be discernible among men. He has left behind him a band of resolute and able men handling the numerous interrelated parts of the vast American war machine. He has left a successor who comes forward with firm step and sure conviction to carry on the task its appointed end. For us, it remains only to say that in Franklin Roosevelt there died the greatest American friend we have ever known, and the greatest champion of freedom who has ever brought help and comfort from the new world to the old.
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