The Turk in Armenia

From “The Purple East” WHAT profits it, O England, to prevail   In camp and mart and council, and bestrew   With argosies thy oceans, and renew With tribute levied on each golden gale Thy treasuries, if thou canst hear the wail   Of women martyred by the turbaned crew,   Whose tenderest mercy was the sword that slew, And lift no hand to wield the purging flail?   We deemed of old thou held’st a charge from Him   Who watches girdled by his seraphim, To smite the wronger with thy destined rod.   Wait’st thou his sign? Enough, the unanswered cry   Of virgin souls for vengeance, and on high The gathering blackness of the frown of God!