The muse in arms by Antonio Linares

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THE MUSE

ARMS

THE MUSE

ARMS

A COLLECTION OF WAR POEMS, FOR THE MOST PART WRITTEN IN THE FIELD OF ACTION, BY SEAMEN, SOLDIERS, AND FLYING MEN WHO ARE SERVING, OR HAVE SERVED, IN THE GREAT WAR

EDITED,

BY EfB.^OSBORN

LONDON JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, 1917

BRUCE LYTTELTON RICHMOND WHOSE UNSELFISH DEVOTION HAS SO GREATLY SERVED

THE CAUSE OF LITERATURE FOR SO MANY YEARS

INTRODUCTION object of this Anthology is to show in the British warrior's soul when, in

what passes moments of

the aspiration or inspiration, before or after action or in busy days of self-preparation for self-sacrifice, he has

To some glimpses of the ultimate significance of warfare. be to can claim extent the selection (which fairly representative of the verses written by those who are serving, or have served, of the visible

As such

in the present world-war) presents a picture imagery of battle as mirrored in his mind.

illustrates his singular capacity for

remembering

the splendour and forgetting the squalor of the dreadful vocation in which he was so suddenly engaged a capacity at the root of that infinite cheerfulness which was such a priceless military

and

disaster.

asset in the early days of disillusion

This all-important point

brought home

by the following story which was told by a visitor to the west front one who had lived all his life with soldiers, though not a soldier himself for the Battle of Arras.

during the final preparations

He was watching

a division

to the fighting line, in company with one of Generals, to whom he propounded the question :

moving up our " How

is it that nothing can break the spirit of these the rule used to be that a regiment which whereas men, to 30 per cent, of casualties could no 20 had suffered " " Look at their be relied on ? faces, and you'll longer t> v

vii

INTRODUCTION

Vlll

see

And, looking at the saw in each one of the other passed by,

why," answered the General.

faces of those

who

them that open and sunny joyousness which "

expressed in the wonderful lines entitled

Grenfell

Julian

Kipling said

His

eternally

Into Battle

which Mr. Rudyard must have been touched." They

concerning lips

were not merely unafraid they all gloried in the thought of the great ordeal to come. And so they went up in sunshine and with singing to win undying fame and ;

deathless gratitude in the valleys of decision where

The thundering

And

in the air

line of battle stands,

Death moans and

sings.

They had

inherited the blithe, unconquerable courage of

the

professional

little

Army which

saved the civilised

world and England's honour in the still-victorious retreat from Mons to the Marne. For, as the General said, in further explanation of

what must seem

to the

enemy a

military miracle, something altogether above and beyond " The Old scientific expectation, Army was the nation

The New Army

in miniature.

The poems here

the nation itself."

collected give,

true,

a stirring

picture of the outward and visible semblance of modern But modern battles are so vast and scientific warfare. so extended in both space and time that composed battlepieces, such as have come down to us from the far-off

and ballad-making, may no longer be looked for. The thread on which all such pictures are " The Assault " and strung the new impressions such as centuries of archery

old

man's Glory

the greatest of

all

Agincourt, or the English Bowthe insular conception of fighting as great games, that which is the most

ballads such as

shrewdly spiced with deadly danger.

The Germans, and

INTRODUCTION even our

Allies,

cannot understand

why

this stout old

nation persists in thinking of war as a sport ; they do not know that sportsmanship is our new homely name, derived

from a racial predilection for comparing great things with In " The small, for the chevalerie of the Middle Ages.

Bowman's Glory," written

English

before

co-operative pastimes were thought veiled in this homely term

of,

any of our

the fine idea

Agincourt, Agincourt

Know Oh,

ye not Agincourt was noble sport

Then

did

we owe men

;

Men, who a victory won us 'Gainst any odds among us Such were our bowmen.

Light

thrown on

this

phase of the British soldier's men-

tality by the verse (examples of which I have selected) he writes in honour of the games and field-sports in which

he acquired the basal elements of all true discipline confidence in his companions and readiness to sacrifice the desire for personal distinction to the which is, of course, a mimic

of his team,

But tion of

it is

an efflorescence of the

common army

interest

in being.

spirit that this collec-

war poetry by those who know war from within

most engrossing.

There has been nothing

before

in the history of English literature, nor, indeed, of any other literature. Even the long agony of the Napoleonic

Wars, so

fertile in

picturesque episodes which stand out gave us only two

in the flux of indistinguishable incident,

or three

poems by

soldier poets.

great days and personalities

who wove out

was

The

celebration of

left to

its

the professional

of hearsay their gleaming webs of At school we learn their well-made poetical and odes heart and find them the provender of songs by poets,

rhetoric.

INTRODUCTION but, later on, when we happen upon such crude and half-forgotten balladry, much prefer Sergeant Grant's " Battle of twelfth stanza with its

patriotism

;

Waterloo,"

quaint

Here's a health to George our Royal King, and long may he govern, Likewise the Duke of Wellington, that noble son of Erin Two years they added to our time for pay and pension too, And now we are recorded as men of Waterloo. !

" Sahagun," that Song of the I5th Hussars sung every December 2ist," which begins

was in quarters we lay as you quickly shall hear, Lord Paget came to us and bid us prepare, Saddle your horses, for we must march soon, Saying, For the French they are lying in the town of Sahagun." It

' '

In the older wars soldiers' songs sometimes the more came into being much as often, the further you go back folk-songs are supposed to have been evolved out of the communal consciousness. The old process was not unknown in the ranks of the Old Army in the first year of the

present war, when,

give an example,

the following

charring ditty was sung up and down the trenches, by Territorials as well as by Regulars, when it seemed to them that Kitchener's Army would never arrive after all :

Who Who

are the boys that fighting's for, are the boys to win the war ? It's good old Kitchener's Army.

And every man

of them's trts ban,

a trench since Mons, Because they never saw one.

They never

But

lost

in these days, more's the pity, the

popular music-hall has such song spontaneous minstrelsy more or less put out of court. It is the tune which counts ; hosts have

marched

and since it is memory-laden and a spell sudden visions of the French country-side up

to conjure

it,

INTRODUCTION

where they dared and endured, for those who marched to it there will always be an incidental beauty, an incommunicable enchantment, in its cheap, catchy rhythms. The words mattered not at all ; or rather, each singer set his

own meaning on them

for

one

man

;

so that "Tipperary," say,

a little upland hamlet in the Pennines

was

Where one may lounge i* the market-place, And see the meadows mown, for a second the very next halting-place on the routemarch, and for a third Berlin, the goal of the great adven-

and

and for a fourth a city shining far above and beyond the mirages of mortality. The time has not yet come to collect the soldiers' songs in many tongues, which are a ture,

product of this world-war, and will have, for

all

who

read

them centuries hence, the beauty of memorial that is felt rather than heard or seen the same beauty of romantic Sidney when he " a Chase blind crowder, though, sung by Chevy strange to say, it never moved him to make war poetry These songs will be few, far too few for the of his own. reality

heard

which

stirred the soul of Sir Philip

gramophone has enabled the music-hall song even

such

border-lands

art-music

to conquer

Serbia

and

Montenegro and Roumania, where it now takes its place even at the camp-fires and silences the makers of folk-song with a brazen, indefatigable voice. But for the music-hall song and another malign influence, this war might have given us a few English marching-songs equal in power and freshness to those which were sung by the men in blue and the men in grey, who wrought for the great Republic of the West a baptism of blood and The other malign influence is that strange, literary

tears.

convention whereby the rank-and-file of our fighting men, by land and by sea, are made to speak a kind of Cockneyese

INTRODUCTION

Xll

is capable. The origin of this of a mystery. By some critics it is supposed to be a result of the far-flung popularity of Mr. Rudyard Kipling's stories of soldiers. In his delight-

of which,

convention

book

ful

real

Cockney

very much

reminiscences

Major-General

Sir

George

Younghusband makes the following curious comments on this theory

I, myself, had served for many years with soldiers, but had never once heard the words or expressions that Rud-

yard Kipling's soldiers used. Many a time did I ask my brother officers whether they had ever heard them. No, never. But, sure enough, a few years after, the soldiers thought, and talked, and expressed themselves exactly like Rudyard Kipling had taught them in his stories He would get a word here, or a stray expression there, and weave them into general soldiers' talk in his priceless stories. Rudyard Kipling made the modern soldier. Other writers have gone on with the good work, and they have between them manufactured the cheery, devil-may-care, lovable person enshrined in our hearts as Tommy Atkins. !

However that may

be,

it is

certain that the

men

of the

New Army them

deeply resent the literary fashion which makes talk like Chevalier's Cockney types nay, even

worse in a more variegated way, for the Chevalier dialect was actually spoken by the costermongers of his time,

whereas the diction of soldiers

popular war-stories

fearfully and wonderfully made, as excruciatingly eclectic in fact, as the most recondite Doric of the Kailyard novel-

The men

ists.

of the

Lower Deck, who

are all highly

specialists, find this literary fashion most offensive to their self-respect, as I know from many conversa-

educated

Soldier's

Memories in Peace and War. Herbert Jenkins

INTRODUCTION tions

on the subject.

may

Xlll

be that the seamen and

were

in the habit of dropping and emasculating the broad open vowels. It is not so to-day, when, generally speaking, the King's fighting men an educated nation in arms speak the King's English.

private soldiers of the 'nineties their h's

have not admitted to this Anthology any innumerable pieces which are written in conventional Cockneyese. In such a case, insincerity of manner is as For

this reason I

of the

fatal a fault as insincerity of matter.

popular war

would

the writers of

to soldiers talking, " Barrack-room instead of imitating the diction of the Ballads," they would get closer to the reality which is so literature

infinitely preferable to all

listen

forms of literary realism.

If it

war would have Waugh and of had been written, living to-day military age they But as yet nothing I should have gladly included them. of the kind has appeared, nor has anything of true worth had been possible

to find true dialect

poems

of the

such as William Barnes or Edwin

been written, so far as I know, in that noble Doric no which has dialect but an own sister of classic English been finely handled of late years by Mr. Charles Marriott

and Mrs. Jacob. It would have been a great joy to find one or two Scottish war-songs, for the true Doric is the very honey of musical speech and sings itself so mellowly. But " as long as such stuff as My Daddy is a Fireman," and the revived Salvation

The

Army

ditty that begins

bells of Hell ring ting-a-ling-a-ling For you, but not for me,

are in favour at the front, the

maker

any mode can hardly hope for an back to him.

of soldiers' songs in audience to sing them

So far, only the disappointments of the anthologist have been touched upon. Yet there is no reason to be

INTRODUCTION

XIV

what disheartened about the result of a year's researches not. all that it is is More, and Anthology outweighs ;

this

perhaps better, verse is yet to come from the many fronts of our amphibious warfare. Nevertheless this collection,

with

all

coherent

imperfections in craftsmanship, picture of the British warrior's

its

the

first

moods and

emotions in war-time which has ever been painted by For that reason it is far more valuable than all

himself. ,

the huge harvest of war poetry by civilian verse-makers. When this war began, the latter had a tremendous innings ; the

number

of high-explosive canticles they

produced is a tithe have read and no can critic living past counting, One was disposed to sympathise with the comof them. plaint of the ingenious Mr. Dooley, who declared that the bombardment of defenceless persons by " concealed

had added a new terror to warfare. batteries iv poets of the Moreover, many products of this offensive in rhyme were clearly, as the same satirist observed, contrary to the

Geneva conventions specimens which failed to explode had been picked up and proved to contain lines capable Mr. Kipling and the of giving one a perpetual ear-ache. Poet Laureate and other established poets, it is true, had manfully resisted this strange scabies scribendi and so ;

earned the gratitude of their admirers, not so much for the few pieces they put forth, as for the many they left un-

the vast mass of civilian war-verse, very with the exception of Mr. ; " To the Fallen," Laurence Binyon's noble valedictory and perhaps a dozen other poems as simple and sincere,

written. little

all

indeed will survive

has nearly all been cast ere now into the waste-paper basket of oblivion. The making of verse memorials is it

perhaps the only task to which the non-combatant poet may address himself without fear of losing his sincerity,

INTRODUCTION

.and with some hope of posterity's approval, if only he will try to imitate the simplicity of the antique models.

The famous epitaph on Waggon

Hill,

above Ladysmith

you who pass this monument, died for her and rest here well content,

Tell England,

We rivals the

and

his

immortal tribute by Simonides of Cos to Leonidas in brevity and restraint, if not in beauty

comrades

In the making of epitaphs for the the non-combatant poet, though he may not work

of musical diction. fallen,

in Latin,

which

so truly

" marble's language," could find

a fitting occupation during war-time. distinguishing characteristic of the

new

soldier-poet

the complete absence of the note of hatred for a

hateful enemy.

curious

most

how seldom he mentions

even remembers the German practitioner of what is called " absolute " warfare by modern disciples of Clausewitz.

Of the many hundreds of his pieces (one in three of them unpublished) I have considered only six were addressed to Germany or the Germans and, of these six, not one was abusive or argumentative. All seemed to be written ;

rather in sorrow than in anger ; and the most deeply " pondered is the sonnet To Germany," by the late Captain

Charles Sorley, which I have included as an example of a that so seldom becomes articulate. In this poem

mood

the cause of

You And And And

Armageddon

thus expounded

only saw your future largely planned, we, the tapering paths of our own mind, in each other's dearest ways we stand, hiss out hate. And the blind fight the blind.

civilian poet, not being a Pacifist

profession,

would

have dared to write these lines, which any German might take as an apologia pro vitiis suis. The explanation of this absence of rancour

not far to seek.

civilised soldier

INTRODUCTION hates his enemy, howsoever hateful, when he has wreaked his righteous anger on him in action ; and the last thing an Englishman would think of doing, when he returns to billets,

Hate."

"Hymn

of to write in the style of Lissauer's In one letter which accompanied a selection of

but impressive, I read this sagacious saying " Not worth while verse trying to score off the Boches in is So invective them." we can do that better when fighting the has not to the non-combatant versifier, who safety:

verse, hasty

>>jleft

j'valve

of action in

arms

tumultuous

for his

ing deeper into this matter,

feelings.

Look-

see that the British soldier's

of one of them, attitude, finally expressed in the words can't help it, poor devil," is really Well, it's Fritz ; he

based on the axiom of Christian morality that it is our duty to hate the offence, not the offender. Furthermore, his shrewd common sense enables him to see that all this " as which Bismarck the

praised enemy," raging against commendable in a war-like nation, is a waste of will-power and tissue. The tenacity of the British people in warfare

;

largely due,

emotions in a

no doubt, to their faculty of economising crisis,

of avoiding all the excesses in

word

and thought which make for nervous exhaustion in a nation or an individual. Hatred, as psychologists teach us, uses is

up nervous energy

that of an athlete

who

;

the very visage of the hater

making

his final effort in

some

feat of strength or swiftness.

by German war began. Such tributes as were paid " " Father Bliicher by his men are altogether lacking ;

Very

little

verse seems to have been written

soldiers since the

even Hindenburg, though supposed to be fashioned of the same knotted timber as Luther and Bismarck, has not

The truth is that Hindeninspired a single soldier-poet. a is or a rather burg fetish, only to the non-combatant deity,

INTRODUCTION German.

would seem that the German

XV11 soldiers, unlike

the French, or the British, have lost that faculty of heroworship which, even if rooted in illusion, multiplies the of an army in wondrous wise. Hero-worship one of the spiritual factors overlooked by the inventors of Germany's system of scientific warfare, which might be

man-power is

compared with the invasion of the body by microbes the " bacilli of a Grey Plague," as it were actuated by a blind instinctive lust of destruction, as in this picture of a fever : Billions with billions wildly wrought,

Unarmed, uncaptained, and untaught For them no flaring battle-cry, No flaming banners tost on high.

;

Even if the soldiers of the Allies had not been higher in the scale of spirituality than leucocytes, yet the German attack on civilisation must have failed for the bodies politic

invaded were sound and healthy, and the cleansing air were also allied against the disease

sun and the sunlit

engendered in darkness and corruption.

amount

by German soldiers German newspapers,

of verse written

began, and printed

Of the small since the

nearly

war

all

but flagrant rhetoric, noisy rather than strong, and " bloodyrooted though leaf-verdant," seeing that it grows out of a theory of national conduct which, having murdered peace, has aimed further at murdering war. The very few German trench poets are moved more by hatred for other people's countries than

by love of their own, and, as munitions of poems are of less value than Zulu warchants. And if we believe, with Napoleon the Great a to a but not barbarian that war is tyrant subject vfipis,

spirituality, their

three-fourths a moral issue, this non-moral stuff is yet another ominous sign that the German Army is doomed

INTRODUCTION

XV111

to die of its

own

like a piece of

soullessness, perhaps to run down suddenly clockwork with an exhausted spring.

Another distinguishing characteristic of the work of *

our soldier-poets is the absence of the note of what may perhaps be called professional patriotism. The word " " does not occur once in all the pieces I have read. patriot

Why

Because the

he willingly

soldier's love of his land, for

he has been,

sacrifices all that

all

which

that he might

something inexpressive, never to be directly intimated, much less anatomised, in terms of 'ics and 'isms. Even so be,

married lovers, in the first abounding joy of possession, never discuss the nature of love, but talk as a rule of trifling matters which are yet looked on as symbols of their singular As soon as they begin to philosophise about intimacy. the true at-one-ment has passed ; they are on the passion,

way

to being merely in love with loving rather than with The soldier instinctively feels that, as soon

one another.

as ever love of one's country and all that inhabits there " is thought of as patriotism," the best of its spiritual fragrance is beginning to be lost. It is then as a flower

entered in a botanist's

museum

;

a quality once soul-

compelling and inexplicable which must now be explained and justified a thing to be dried, dissected, lectured upon, argued about. And in the end this mere philosophic 'ism is apt to become nothing better than a form of politics ;

;

a trick of logomachy which the partisan

own

benefit,

and refuse to

oft-quoted saying of Dr.

all

may

his opponents.

seize for his

Hence, the

Johnson, the most English of

Englishmen, which has been so frequently and so foolishly used as an argument in favour of the cosmopolite's conten" out in men the sense but "

tion that

man

of nationality. service,

blissful,

parcelled

The

soldier

sacrificial,

who keen,

devotes himself to the of

his

one and only

XIX

INTRODUCTION

man who

Motherland, has the self-same suspicion of the

do well to

party politicians will is over and they go voteIn his case only the patriotism which

brags of his patriotism

remember

when the war

this fact

hunting once more.

all ; the partisan a patriot himself who thinks to curry favour by calling will be in the position of a person who styles himself a

serves in silence counts, or will count at

gentleman, and so becomes suspected of being merely gentlemanly.

Wisely and warily then, the modern Sidneys and Raleighs never put to their lips the brazen trumpet of self-advertising Their love of country

patriotism.

symbolism

may

not be

expressed in a varied

in longing, lingering glances at the land which able to give them even a grave, at the life relin-

quished which will yet be theirs again for evermore. Brooke's wonderful sonnet which begins, If I

should

die,

think only this

of"

That there's some corner of a foreign That is for ever England,

Rupert

field

the subtlest form of this beautiful symbolism it would be a conceit in the Elizabethan sense but for the deep is

tenderness which

and

irradiates it

with delight from within

above the fantastical. " Lieutenant GeoflFrey Howard's " England begins as finely in a more direct way, and is full of pride in the lifts it far

tremendous power of the

little

land so greatly beloved

Her seed is sown about the world. The seas For Her have paved their waters. She is known In swamps that steam about the burning zone,

And dreaded

in the last white lands that freeze.

And altogether worthy of comparison with these two sonnets is the poem in which Lieutenant Robert Nichols is

INTRODUCTION

suddenly aware that the last self-sacrifice, after all, is but the price that is due for the beauty of England inwrought inextricably in his being

The gorse upon the twilit down, The English loam so sunset brown, The bowed pines and the sheep-bell's clamour, The wet, lit lane and the yellow-hammer, The orchard and the chaffinch song, Only

to the

And he

Brave belong

;

shall lose their joy for ay,

he cannot pay.

If their price

Also he sees, in the self-same moment of vision, that the bravery of her lost sons will add to the beauty of the land

Furthermore, these soldier-poets ask nothing of England for themselves ; they are not sorry for themselves " cold and will not understand " because she is ; they are well content if only she will remain herself, the Gloriana adored.

of all the

lands that ever have been or ever shall be.

Therein their patriotism (to use the cold, inadequate, apologetic term) exceeds that of the ancient Athenians,

whom

Athens was not a mother-queen but a darling, dangerous mistress ... so that the withdrawal of her favour was poison in the very heart's blood, driving Alcibiades into ruthless treachery and making of Thucydides a merciless cynic, whose history was intended to hold up

for

the violet-crowned

city to

the

smiling

derision

all

sequent centuries. Only in Houston Chamberlain has the ancient type of Greek traitor, the victim of an ingrowing dismally revisited this tragic star. That Germany's pride is less than ours appears in the fact that the Germans have used him as the Spartans used Alcibiades, egoism,

whereas we have taken none of the help proffered by the

many Germans who had

already sold

Germany

in their

squalid souls.

The symbolism

which love

of country is

shadowed

INTRODUCTION

XXI

forth in the true English war-poetry assumes

many forms

dominant emotion, in abiding memories of sights and sounds and odours of the green country-side, the turmoil and clangour in this

Anthology.

variously shown,

this

" towns inscribed with the frozen " of unravished centuries, the curious laws and music quaint customs of famous schools and ancient universities, of great cities, the historic

the more

humane games which teach an

unselfish discipline,

the treasured books which are a mirror of the past that Now and again, also, there flashes light into the future.

a glimpse of the certainty that the dread glittering visage of war is what it has always been that, as we are

but guests of England's dead in their serried patience, so we go out to fight, or come back with thanksgiving, accom-

panied by ghostly comrades.

But

all this,

and much more besides,

best learnt from

selected, the least skilful of which will have for our posterity the beauty of memorial. Many of

the poems

have

these soldier-poets have already fallen in action ; in every for example, in that of Captain Robert Palmer's

case

one poem

each piece will be accepted as a testamentum militare, bequeathing valour without rancour or repining as an heirloom to future generations. One generation will

have

all

but perished before the end comes few indeed former habitations in Oxford of all who ;

will return to their

bound themselves

to return

see that the old traditions

when

the

war was over and

were renewed and kept up by

who were

too young to go to the war. The tremendous loss the nation will have suffered would be made those

manifest to if

all visitors to these ancient seats of learning the American custom of class parades on academic

festivals existed in this country.

At Harvard on one such when

occasion some years ago there was a deep silence

INTRODUCTION

XX11

the classes of the years of the Civil War were passing so few of those who graduated then had survived !

But the youth we have

dread years has not " the has in if vain ; perished spring gone out of the year," as Pericles lamented, yet we are immeasurably the richer lost in these

for the spirituality they

have bequeathed to

us, of

which

the poems in this book are an enduring expression. The time has not yet come to estimate the influence of their work on English literature in the nearer and further future. It

;

may

well be that the saying of one of the least conven-

tional of

them On Achi ..,,

Baba's rock their bones Whiten, and on Flanders' plain, But of their travailings and groans Poetry is born again,

ways undreamed

For the most part to keep to conventional forms (such as the sonnet) and to use the traditional currency of thought even when they were thinking in a new way. There are not wanting those who have

may

fulfilled in

they have preferred

;

fashioned

new

of.

stare super antiquas vias

bottles for the

new wine of aspiration

;

some

" battered cry aloud from the " order of the established trenches Some against things. " Red war is a dim rose in time," of them hope, when the of

these voices indeed

to create out of passion in retrospect

poems that shall be nobler and more heartening than those wrought of too immediate passion. May they live long and labour to All of them, as I know well, hope to that high end rebuild our shattered national life so that it may be better !

with sword and lyre that every new city nearer and yet nearer to the very Civitas Dei must be builded up. In the new sense of comradeship,

worth fighting

which

for.

It is

the secret of our victorious warfare, and

INTRODUCTION

XX111

underlying motive of many of these poems, and explicit in but a few (being almost too sacred for an Englishman to write about) rests our best hope for the England that is

to be.

officer for his

the all-engrossing love of the regimental in the lines by

men, so poignantly expressed

Robert Nichols Was Was

I have forgotten her, there love once ? there grief once ? Grief still is mine. Other loves I have men rough, but men who stir More joy, more grief, than love of thee and thine. ;

Faces cheerful, full of whimsical mirth, Lined by the wind, burned by the sun, Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth, As whose children, brothers we are and one

or with even greater force in two simple lines from a poem by Lieutenant E. A. Mackintosh to the fathers of his friends fallen in action

You were I

was

only their fathers,

their officer,

can only be carried on into the hard days coming peace-time, we may surely await the future

this spirit

of the

with a firm faith and without any amazement. Here, then, is a book of the munitions of remembrance and hopefulness.

E. B. OSBORN.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TN *-

I must

the first place,

have

published

many

-personally

cases

them

given

'permission

in this

unpublished poems

who

include

Anthology.

unpublished pieces offered for inclusion have

proved unsuitable to offered

heartily thank the authors

all

its

purpose.

the greater,

gratitude to those

who

because accompanied by a

feeling of regret that every such selection is necessarily limited

in size

and

scope.

Where communication with a

living writer has been diffi-

cult or impracticable, relations or friends at

taken the responsibility of granting

examples

of his work.

I have

home have kindly

permission to include

thank Lady Jenkins for

by her son, Lieutenant A. L. Jenkins;

manuscript poems Mrs. Rose-lroup for a selection from the unpublished verse of her son,

Captain J.

Rose-lroup, who

a prisoner

war in Germany ; Miss Edith Harvey for permission to " A Gloucestershire Lad," by quote any poems I liked from

her cousin, Lieutenant

enemy's hands;

and.

representative, for the

Harvey, who

Miss Marion

Scott,

also in the

as his literary

poems by Private Ivor Gurney.

greatly indebted to the representatives of soldier-poets

who have

fallen in action or died of

XXV

wounds.

I have

thank

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

XXVI

Lord and Lady Desborougb for the 'poems by their sons, Captain Julian Grenfell and Lieutenant Gerald William Grenfell ;

Lady Glenconner

for the three

Lieutenant E.-Wyndham Tennant; Lord the

excerpts from

"In Memoriam"

Sorley for permission

St.

;

son,

David's for the

and prose

collection of verse

by his son, Captain Colwyn Philipps to

poems by her

Professor

" reprint pieces from

Marlborough

and Other Poems " by his son, Captain Charles H. Sorley, and also for helpful advice as to which were most characteristic Viscount Wolmer, M.P., for

of the author's personality ; the sonnet by his brother, of

Ipswich and

Lieutenant

Captain Robert Palmer for the

St.

Edmondsbury N. Hodgson, M.C.

Sterling for examples of the poetical

;

the

;

Bishop

by his son,

poems Mr. J.

Lockhart

work of his son, Lieu-

who won the Newdigate Prize Poem Mrs. Winterbotham for the two poems by her son, Lieutenant C. W. Winterbotham ; Miss Pauline Clough for the pieces by Lieutenant A. Victor Ratcliffe ; tenant R. at

Sterling,

Oxford in 1913 ;

Mr. Erskine Macdonald Streets ;

for the sonnet by Sergeant

and Mr. F. Raymond Coulson

for the

John W. poems by

his son, Sergeant Leslie Coulson.

" The limes " for allowing me to numbered the V, VIII, XVII, XXX, XL VIII, poems reprint LII, and LXVIII, all of which first appeared in its columns ; " The to include one the

I have

also to thank

Spectator" for permission

by Lieutenant Herbert Asquith

;

and " The

for a like courtesy in regard to two

New

poems "

Witness

poems by Captain Colin

S. Moncrieff.

All the publishers approached have been most kind in consenting to republic ation*

thanks are especially due

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS to

Messrs. Methuen for two pieces from

by Lieutenant N. H. for the two first

and Jackson of

R.N.

Naval Motley "

Mr. Herbert Jenkins

;

poems by Sergeant Patrick MacGill which were

published in his

works

Corbett,

XXV11

for

the

Soldier Songs

various

Lieutenant F.

" ;

Messrs. Sidgwick

excerpts from the published

Harvey, Lieutenant Herbert

Asquith, and Mr. Edward Shanks; Messrs. Chatto and " " " Windus for " Eyes in the Air from Guns by Captain " Ardours and Gilbert Frankau, and for the pieces from

Endurances

by Lieutenant Robert Nichols

Mr. Erskine

;

" Macdonald, who has allowed me to quote freely from Fleur" Under " the by Lieutenant Dynelty Hussey, de-Lys " " " Outposts by by Private Harley Matthews, Open Sky Sergeant Leslie Coulson, and that charming

little

collection

" " Soldier the Poetry ; poets " The Brazier " by Captain Bookshop for the poem from the Blackwell Mr. B. H. Graves Robert ; for pieces I have " that much-discussed " Wheels taken from anthology, and of real

war-poetry entitled

"Oxford and Flanders" by "Observer, R.F.C." (Captain Gordon Alchin) ; Mr. John Lane for the poem from

from

" Highland Regiment by Lieutenant E. A. Mackintosh, and the M.C., for poem by Lieutenant R. M. Denny s from " There is no Death " Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton ;

for two

poems from

W. M. James,

the

R.N.} ; " Comrades tions from

Mr. A.

" 1 B. Z)." (Commander volume by Mr. Elkin Matthews for the quota" Private Alexander Robertson

Humphreys

;

for the pieces

from

Hertfordshire Hunt," by Captain George

Lays

Robins

of the ;

Mr.

" " William Heinemann for a poem from The Old Huntsman by Lieutenant Siegfried Sassoon ; and Mr. John Murray for

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

XXV111

" Ballads of Battle" by Sergeant poems taken from " and The Old Way" by Captain Ronald from Joseph Lee, the

Hopwood, R.N. A. J. is a-

soldier

Imtarfa

;

a naval

other pieces signed with

initials

and have been included

perhaps temporarily

are

by civilian authors,

the picture of the spirit of British warfare.

complete

all cases

thank the

Head Master

Eton

for the lines

they

I have

are included on the express advice of military critics. to

The

officer.

To Charles

Lister" Mr. Ian Colvin for the spirited ballad of the Battle of the

Falkland Islands, Mrs. Plowman for

poignantly depict the

the

lot of the soldier's wife,

poems which so and Miss Roma

i '

White

for the opinions of a

Fisherman

(necessarily a

com-

batant in a very real sense) on the Battle of Jutland. Finally,

indebted

the

literary

executor

Rupert Brooke and Messrs. Sidgwick and Jackson " for permission to reprint two of the sonnets in 1914 and Other Poems."

the late

It is hoped to extend this Anthology representative as time goes on the soldier poets of the

I should be very to

poems

and make

; for example, the

Dominions

grateful to readers

-fine

fully

work

will have to be included.

who would

call

attention

of distinction, published or unpublished, by authors

in this country or in the Dominions who have

arrived

too

late to be represented in the present series.

E. B. 0.

LIST OF

AUTHORS

CAPTAIN GORDON ALCHIN, Royal Flying Corps, and Royal Field Artillery.

LIEUTENANT HERBERT ASQUITH, Royal Field Artillery. *SUB-LIEUTENANT RUPERT BROOKE, R.N.V.R. died in ;

the ^Egean, April 2jrd, 1915.

LIEUTENANT NOEL M.

CORBETT, Royal Navy.

^SERGEANT LESLIE COULSON, Royal

Fusiliers

;

killed in

action, October yth.

^CAPTAIN RICHARD M. DENNYS, Loyal North Lancashire Regiment died of wounds received in the Somme ;

Advance, July 24th, 1916. CAPTAIN GILBERT FRANKAU, R.F.A.,

Staff Captain.

CAPTAIN H.

S. GRAHAM, Royal Engineers (Fortress). CAPTAIN ROBERT GRAVES, Royal Welsh Fusiliers. *CAPTAIN THE HON. JULIAN GRENFELL, D.S.O., Royal

Dragoons; died

wounds,

May

2/th, 1915.

^LIEUTENANT THE HON. GERALD WILLIAM GRENFELL, Rifle Brigade;

killed in action, July 3oth, 1915.

PRIVATE IVOR GURNEY, Gloucestershire Regiment.

W. HARVEY, D.C.M., Gloucestershire Regiment prisoner of War in Germany. CAPTAIN THE HON. AUBREY HERBERT, M.P., Irish Guards,

LIEUTENANT

F. ;

Interpreter.

xxix

XXX

LIST OF

AUTHORS

^LIEUTENANT WILLIAM NOEL HODGSON,

Devon

M.C.,

Regiment killed in action, July 1st, 1916. LIEUTENANT GEOFFREY HOWARD, Royal Fusiliers. ;

LIEUTENANT DYNELEY HUSSEY, Lancashire Fusiliers. LIEUTENANT LESSEL HUTCHEON, Royal Flying Corps. CAPTAIN RONALD A. HOPWOOD, Royal Navy. COMMANDER WILLIAM M. JAMES, Royal Navy. LIEUTENANT A. L. JENKINS, Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry.

SERGEANT JOSEPH LEE, Black Watch. ^COMPANY-SERGEANT-MAJOR W. H. LITTLEJOHN, Middlesex Regt.

;

killed in action, April loth, 1917.

SERGEANT PATRICK MAcGiLL, PRIVATE HARLEY MATTHEWS,

Irish Rifles.

A.I.F.

CAPTAIN COLIN SCOTT-MONCRIEFF, King's

Own

Scottish

Borderers.

LIEUTENANT E.A. MACKINTOSH, M.C.,Seaforth Highlanders. LIEUTENANT ROBERT NICHOLS, R.F.A. ^CAPTAIN THE HON. ROBERT PALMER, Hants Regiment; died in the Turkish

Camp

wounds received on

the Tigris on January 2ist, 1916. LIEUTENANT VICTOR PEROWNE, Scots Guards.

*CAPTAIN THE HON. COLWYN PHILIPPS, Royal Horse Guards;

killed in action,

SECOND LIEUTENANT

May

I3th, 1915.

MAX PLOWMAN, West

Yorkshire

Regiment.

^LIEUTENANT A. VICTOR RATCLIFFE, West Yorkshire Regiment.

^PRIVATE ALEXANDER ROBERTSON, York and Lancaster Regiment

;

killed in action, July ist, 1916.

LIST OF

AUTHORS

XXXI

^CAPTAIN GEORGE V. ROBINS, East Yorkshire Regiment killed in action (gassed),

CAPTAIN of

war

May

5th, 1915.

M. ROSE-TROUP, Queen's Regiment in

LIEUTENANT

;

prisoner

Germany. SIEGFRIED

SASSOON,

M.C.,

Royal Welsh

Fusiliers.

SECOND LIEUTENANT EDWARD SHANKS (temporary), South Lancashire Regiment.

CAPTAIN OSBERT SITWELL, Grenadier Guards. ^CAPTAIN CHARLES H. SORLEY, Suffolk Regiment; October 3rd, 1915.

in action,

LIEUTENANT R. W. STERLING, Royal Scots .

killed in action, St. George's

SERGEANT

killed

JOHN

STREETS,

Day, 1915. York and

Fusiliers

;

Lancaster

Regiment.

^LIEUTENANT THE HON. E. WYNDHAM TENNANT, Grenadier

Guards

;

killed in action

on Western Front

September 1915.

LIEUTENANT WILLOUGHBY WEAVING, Royal Irish Rifles. LIEUTENANT ERIC F. WILKINSON, M.C., West Yorkshire Regiment (Leeds

Rifles).

^LIEUTENANT CYRIL W. WINTERBOTHAM, Regiment

;

killed in action,

Gloucestershire

August 27th, 1916.

CONTENTS THE MOTHER LAND PAGE I.

II.

SHOULD DIE AT THE WARS . IF I

III.

REVERIE

IV.

FAREWELL

'-.

HOME THOUGHTS

VII.

Robert Nichols

William Noel Hodgson

4 6

Robert Nichols

IN LAVENTIE

Wyndham Tennant

Edward Shanks

Ivor Gurney

Julian Grenfell William Noel Hodgson

19 22

John W.

Streets

Robert Graves

VI.

Rupert Brooke

MARCHING AT HOME: PICTURES

STRANGE SERVICE

BEFORE ACTION VIII.

IX.

INTO BATTLE BEFORE ACTION

X. LOVE OF LIFE XI.

XII.

BIG WORDS

THE APPROACH 1.

.... .... .

(Robert Nichols}:

IN THE GRASS

HALT

WAYSIDE . 2. ON THE WAY UP 3. NEARER XIII. To THE POET BEFORE BATTLE .

BT THE .

.26

.......

....

27 28

Ivor Gurney

Siegfried Sassoon

Richard Molesworth Denny s

XIV. ABSOLUTION XV. BETTER FAR TO PASS AWAY

xxxiii

XXXIV

CONTENTS

BATTLE PIECES PAGE

XVI. DIES IRAE XVII. BABEL XVIII. IN THE MORNING XIX. RELEASE

Willoughby Weaving Osbert Sitwell

Patrick MacGill

William Noel Hodgson Alexander Robertson

XX. THE NEW ^NEID XXI. THE ROAD XXII. BETWEEN THE TRENCHES XXIII. COMRADES XXIV. THE STAR-SHELL

Gordon Ale bin

Willoughby Weaving Robert Nichols Patrick MacGill

XXV. BATTLE (Robert 1. NOON 2.

37 38

Nichols):

NIGHT BOMBARDMENT

XXVI. THE ASSAULTRobert Nichols XXVII. LIGHT AFTER DARKNESS E. Wyndham Tennant XXVIII. BIRDS IN THE TRENCHES Willoughby Weaving XXIX. To A BABY FOUND PADDLING NEAR THE LINES .

Herbert Asquith

XXX. THE REAR-GUARD

Siegfried Sassoon

65 68

Ronald Hopwood

THE SEA AFFAIR XXXI. THE OLD WAY XXXII. SONG OF THE WHITE ENSIGN .

William

M. James

William M. James XXXIII. UNDYING DAYS . Noel F. M. Corbett XXXIV. To A NAVAL CADET XXXV. LINES WRITTEN SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTH SEA .

Noel F.

XXXVI. BATTLE OF THE FALKLAND XXXVII. GUNS AT SEA .

XXXVIII. NEWS OF JUTLAND

78 82 86

Corbett

Imtarfa

Roma White

ISLES

CONTENTS

WAR XXXIX.

THE AIR

XXXV

XX XVI

CONTENTS

THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER PAGE

LXVII. THE CROSS OF WOOD LXVIII. WHAT is WAR ? LXIX. How LONG, O LORD f

LXX.

RELEASE

Cyril Winterbotham

Rose-Troup Robert Palmer

Colwyn Philipps

LXXI. IN THE LOWER GARDEN H. S. Graham LXXII. A CHRISTMAS PRAYER Cyril Winterbotham LXXIII. HOLY COMMUNION SERVICE, SUVLA BAY W. H. Littlejohn

SCHOOL AND COLLEGE LXXIV.

159 161

162 163

164 169

171

CONTENTS

THE GHOSTLY COMPANY xc.

XXXV11

CONTENTS

XXXV111

MOODS AND MEMORIES PAGE

CXV. THE LISTENERS CXVI. OUTPOSTS

J.M.Rose-Troup A. L. Jenkins

Osbtrt Sitwell CXVII. TEARS CXVIII. THE TRYST A.J. CXIX. THE WARRIOR MONTH Willoughby Weaving Charles Scott-Moncrieff CXX. BACK IN BILLETS

CXXI. PROGRESS Willoughby Weaving CXXII. THE HILLS Julian Grenfell CXXIII. ON ACCOUNT OF ILL HEALTH Edward Shanks .

CXXIV. LAST

LINES

CXXV. A PRAYER '"'.,, CXXVI. THE GOD WHO WAITS

CXXVII. JUDGMENT CXXVIII. THE HOSPITAL SHIP CXXIX. THE RAINBOW

Leslie Coulson

. .

271

272

274 275

277 278 281 283

284

Leslie Coulson

285 288

W. H. Littlejohn

289

Coulson

291

Robert Graves

293

Edward Shanks

295

Leslie

CXXX. ESCAPE CXXXI. GOOD WISHES

R. W. Sterling W. H. LittleJohn

267 269

The Mother

Land

If I Should Die I

should die, think only this of

IF That That

there's

some

for ever England.

corner of a foreign field

There

shall

In that rich earth' a richer dust concealed

A A

whom England

dust

;

made

bore, shaped, aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

body

of England's, breathing English air,

Washed by

And

the rivers, blest by suns of home.

think, this heart,

all evil

shed away,

pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given Her sights and sounds ; dreams happy as her day ;

And

laughter, learnt of friends

;

and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

RUPERT BROOKE.

;

Wars

the

that I

NOWAnd may

ta'en

away

not see another day

What is it to my eye appears What sound rings in my stricken ?

Not even the voice

ears

any friend

eyes beloved-world-without-end,

But scenes and sounds In far

England

of the country-side

across the tide

upland field when spring's begun, Mellow beneath the evening sun. .

circle of loose

Over which seven red pines

and lichened wall fall.

orchard of wizen blossoming trees

Wherein the nesting chaffinches Begin again the self-same song All the late April day-time long.

Paths that lead a shelving course

Between the chalk scarp and the gorse By English downs and oh too well !

;

hear the hidden, clanking bell

Of wandering sheep. ... Twilight of the huge, 4

I see

the brown

empty down

AT THE WARS Soon blotted out Glitters with

And on

for

warmth

now

a shooting briar

A yellow

bird

who

a lane

May-time I

rain.

see

sings to

me.

yellow-hammer, once I heard Thy yaffle when no other bird Could to

But now

sunk heart comfort bring could not have thee sing

So sharp thy note

with the pain not see again

Of England I may Yet sing- thy song

Deep

;

a voice

there answereth

which saith

" The gorse upon the twilit down, The English loam so sunset brown,

The bowed pines and The wet, lit lane and

The orchard and Only

And

to the

the

yellow-hammer,

the chaffinch song

Brave belong*

he shall lose their joy for aye

If their price he

Who

the sheep-bells' clamour,

shall find

cannot pay.

them dearer far

Enriched by blood

war" ROBERT NICHOLS.

after long

Ill

Reverie

home they

see

on Skiddaw

His royal purple

And autumn up

lie,

Newlands

Arrayed in russet die, Or under burning woodland

The

still

lake's gramarye.

and grim and sable The menace of the Gable

And

far off

Lifts

his stark aloofness

Against the western sky.

At vesper-time in Durham The level evening falls

Upon That

the shadowy river slides

Where

by ancient

walls,

out of crannied turrets

The mellow

belfry calls.

And there sleep brings forgetting And morning no regretting, And love is laughter-wedded To health

happy

halls.

W. N. HODGSON. 6

Farewell the last time, maybe, upon the knoll

FOR

The eve

I stand.

golden, languid, sad.

Day like a tragic actor plays his role To the last whispered word and falls gold-clad. too, take leave of all I ever had.

am, but soon them all, but oh

Heavy I

love

little sadly,

bell

still,

When

bell

free,

now depart

to try a mystery.

sounding down

all

I shall I

Dedham

vale

too often standing here

the air was tremulous, fine and pale,

Thy golden

note so calm, so

Out

stony heart has struck a tear.

strangely, fearfully,

As one who goes The

went with heavy heart

shall not say I

They

still,

so clear,

And now tears are not mine. I have release From all the former and the later pain, Like the mid sea

rock in boundless peace

Soothed by the charity of the deep-sea

Calm

rain

Calm

sea

rain.

Calm found, long sought 7

in vain

FAREWELL

bronzen pines, evening of gold and blue, Steep mellow slope, brimmed twilit pools below,

Hushed

trees, still vale dissolving in '

Farewell.

have been happy.

EXPEDITIONARY FORCE LEAVE,

There

the dew,

no more to do.

Happy now I go. ROBERT NICHOLS.

Home

Thoughts in Laventie

RE EN

gardens in Laventie

Soldiers only

Where

the

mud

know

the street

churned and splashed about

battle-wending feet ; yet beside one stricken house there

And

Look

for

when you

a glimpse of grass.

pass.

Beyond the church whose pitted Seems balanced on a strand

spire

Of swaying stone and tottering brick

Two And

roofless ruins stand,

here behind the wreckage where the back wall should

have been

We The

grass

The

Was No Along

its

found a garden green.

was never trodden on,

path of gravel overgrown with celandine, little

other folk did travel

weedy

surface, but the nimble-footed

Running from house to house. 9

mouse

HOME THOUGHTS

among

all

the vivid blades

and tender grass

soft

We lay,

LAVENTIE

nor heard the limber wheels

That pass and ever

pass,

In noisy continuity until their stony rattle

Seems

in itself a battle.

At length we

rose up from this ease Of tranquil happy mind,

And

searched the garden's

A And

little

fresh pleasaunce to find

some yellow

there,

length

;

and jasmine hanging

daffodils

high

Did

The

the,

many

sweets

found,

a little bush of

Upon

And

and most fragrant

fairest

Was

rest the tired eye.

so thick

a grassy

flower

Daphne mound,

were the blossoms

set

and so divine the scent

That we were well content.

Hungry for spring, I bent my head, The perfume fanned my face,

And

all

In that

soul

little

was dancing lovely place,

Dancing with a measured step from wrecked and shattered towns

Away

upon the Downs.

HOME THOUGHTS I

saw green banks

LAVENTIE

of daffodil,

Slim poplars in the breeze,

Great tan-brown hares in gusty March A-courting on the leas

And meadows with

;

their glittering streams,

and

silver

scurrying dace,

Home what

a perfect place! E.

BELGIUM, March, 1916.

WYNDHAM TEN N ANT.

Marching at Home a grey

UNDER Through the

men

the

little village

are waking,

limbs and rubbing their eyes misted window I watch the sun rise.

Easing their

From my

dawn, timidly breaking,

stiff

;

In the middle of the village a fountain stands,

Round

the

men

sit,

washing their red hands.

Slowly the light grows,

call

the

roll over,

Bring the laggards stumbling from their Slowly the company gathers all together

And

the

men and

warm

the officer look shyly at the v/eather.

Off the column goes. quick march All through the village all the windows unclose

the

left,

At every window stands a child, To see what road the company is

early waking,

taking.

THE wind is cold and heavy And storms are in the sky Our path

cover,

across the heather

Goes higher and more high. 12

MARCHING AT HOME

right, the

town we came from,

To left, blue hills and sea The wind is growing colder,

And

shivering are we.

drag with stiffening fingers

Our

rifles

The path is But leads

up the hill. steep and tangled, to Flanders

still.

EDWARD SHANKS.

VII

Strange Service ITTLE

dream, England, that you bore me Under the Cotswold Hills beside the water meadows

To do you

And your was

did

dreadful service, here, beyond your borders enfolding seas.

a dreamer ever, and

bound

to your dear service on Meditating deep, thought your secret beauty, As through a child's face one may see the clear spirit I

Miraculously shining.

Your

hills

Your

tiny knolls

not only

Muddy and Safe in

Now

its

hills,

but friends of mine and kindly,

and orchards hidden beside the river

strongly flowing, with shy and tiny streamlets

bosom.

these are memories only, and your skies and rushy

sky-pools Fragile mirrors easily broken by

But deep

And

moving

airs

;

heart for ever goes on your daily being

uses consecrate.

STRANGE SERVICE Think on

too,

Mother,

who wrest my

soul to serve

you In strange and fearful ways beyond your encircling waters ; None but you can know my heart, its tears and sacrifice,

None, but you, repay.

IVOR^GURNEY.

Before Action

VIII

Into Battle naked earth

THEAnd Leans to

warm with

spring,

with green grass and bursting trees

the. sun's gaze glorying,

And quivers in the sunny breeze And life is colour and warmth and light, And a striving evermore for these And he is dead who will not fight And who dies fighting has increase. ;

;

The

man

fighting

shall

from the sun

Take warmth, and life from the glowing earth Speed with the light-foot winds to run,

And with the trees to newer birth And find, when fighting shall be done, ;

Great

rest,

and

All the bright

Hold him

fullness after dearth.

company

in their

Heaven

high comradeship,

The Dog-Star, and the

Sisters Seven,

Orion's Belt and sworded hip. 19

;

INTO BATTLE

The woodland

trees that stand together,

They stand to him each one a friend They

The

guide to

in the

kestrel hovering

And

the

;

windy weather and valley ridge's end.

They gently speak

;

by day,

owls that

call by night, Bid him be swift and keen as they, As keen of ear, as swift of sight. little

The blackbird

sings to him,

Brother, brother,

be the last song you shall sing, Sing well, for you may not sing another If this

;

Brother, sing."

In dreary, doubtful, waiting hours, Before the brazen frenzy starts,

The

horses show

him nobler powers

;

patient eyes, courageous hearts

And when the burning moment breaks, And all things else are out of mind, And only joy of battle takes Him by the throat, and makes him blind, Through joy and blindness he shall know Not caring much to know, that still

Nor

lead nor steel shall reach him, so

That

be not the Destined Will.

INTO BATTLE

The thundering

And

in the air

But Day

line of battle stands,

death moans and sings ; him with strong hands,

shall clasp

And Night

shall fold

him

in soft wings.

JULIAN GRENFELL.

Before Action all

the glories of the day

BY And

the cool evening's benison,

By that last sunset touch that lay Upon the hills when day was done, By beauty lavishly outpoured And blessings carelessly received,

all

the days that I have lived a soldier, Lord.

Make me

By all of all man's hopes and fears, And all the wonders poets sing, The laughter

of unclouded years,

And By

every sad and lovely thing the romantic ages stored

With high endeavour that was

;

his,

all his mad catastrophes Lord. Make me a man,

that on

Saw with uncomprehending eyes hundred of Thy sunsets spill

familiar hill

Their fresh and sanguine 22

sacrifice,

BEFORE ACTION Ere the sun swings

his

Must say good-bye

all

delights that

Help

to die,

noonday sword

to all of this

I shall

Lord.

W. June

agth, 1916.

;

miss,

N. HODGSON.

Love of Life out thy hands, thy

spirit's

hands, to

REACH And pluck the youth, the magic from my heartMagic of dreams whose Is

plumed

Mad The

;

pressure in the blood soul with

mad

All slothfulness of

The

sensibility

like the light

soul of

dawn

delight

life

;

visions that start ;

desire that thrills to yearning

draw from

its

across the twilight

Reach out thy hands, That I am fully thine

O ;

spirit, till I

wed

bed

hills.

feel

for I shall live

In the proud consciousness that thou dost give,

And if thy twilight And draw me unto

Life

;

fingers

death

round

steal

thy votary

reach out thy hands to

JOHN W. STREETS.

Big Words 'VE whined

It's

Though

coming death, but now, no more

weak and most ungracious. a

still

For, say

years are counted,

boy

why

I've lived those years from roof to cellar-floor,

And

feel, like

Ready,

grey-beards touching their fourscore,

so soon as the need comes, to die

And

I'm

satisfied.

For winning confidence in those quiet days Of peace, poised sickly on the precipice side Of Lliwedd crag by Snowdon, and in war Finding

firmlier

Winning That once

Even

And

I lost,

in this

with

a faith in the

finding

chaos

than before

wisdom it

of God's

;

ways

justified

winning love that stays warms the heart like wine at Easter-tide

Having

;

earlier tried

False loves in plenty oh my cup of praise Brims over, and I know I'll feel small sorrow, Confess no sins and make no weak delays !

;

death ends

But on the

all

and

must

die to-morrow."

firestep, waiting to attack,

cursed, prayed, sweated, wished the proud words back.

ROBERT GRAVES. 25

XII

The Approach i.

In the Grass:

Halt by

tired, helpless

I feel

the

Wayside

body

sunk heart ache

;

But suddenly, loudly The far, the great guns shake.

Is it

sudden terror

Burdens Flies to

my heart my head.

And do

not understand.

death so near, then

From

hand

I listen.

this blazing light,

plunge suddenly

Into vortex

Guns again

Night

the quiet

Shakes at the vengeful voice. It is terrible pleasure. I

do not fear

;

I rejoice. ^.A

THE APPROACH

the

Way Up

THE

battery grides and jingles, Mile succeeds to mile ;

Shaking the noonday sunshine, The guns lunge out a while

And

then are

still

a while.

amble along the highway

The

reeking,

Ascends and cakes our

faces,

With a

crust.

sweaty

striped,

Under the

;

powdery dust

still

sky's violet

The heat throbs in the air. The white road's dusty radiance, .

Assumes a dark

glare.

With a head hot and heavy,

And And In a

eyes that cannot rest, a black heart burning stifled breast,

I sit in I feel

the saddle,

the road unroll,

And keep my

senses straightened

Toward to-morrow's

goal.

There over unknown meadows,

Which we must reach

at last,

Day and night thunders A black and chilly blast.

THE APPROACH Heads

forget heaviness,

Hearts forget spleen, For by that mighty winnowing

Being

blown

clean.

Light in the eyes again, Strength in the hand,

spirit dares, dies, forgives

And can And

understand.

best

After grief

And

Love comes back again and shame,

along the wind of death

Throws a clean flame

grides and jingles

The battery

Mile succeeds to mile

;

Suddenly battering the silence

The guns burst out a

I lift

head and

NEARER and

while.

smile.

Nearer

ever nearer.

body tired but tense

Hovers 'twixt vague pleasure

And

tremulous confidence.

;

THE APPROACH

Arms to have and to use them, And a soul to be made Worthy

not worthy ; unafraid

If afraid,

To endure for a little, To endure and have done

Men

Over

And

love about me,

the sun

should at last suddenly

Fly the speeding death

The

four great quarters of heaven

Receive this

little

breath.

ROBERT NICHOLS.

XIII

To the Poet before Battle youth, the hour of thy dread passion comes

NOW, Thy lovely things must And

thou, as others,

must

all

be laid away

face the riven

;

day

Unstirred by rattle of the rolling drums

bugles' strident cry.

The

great craft's honour, that they

shame

Nothing Of praise the our

of poets.

little

Shall be forgotten

And

numbs

noise

sense of being, the sick soul doth sway,

Remember thy

For

When mere

;

then they must know

are,

skill in

The name

of poet terrible in just war,

And

crown of honour upon the

like a

say

versemen joyed to take

words, equal in might of as those we honoured. mettle strong

all

may

Then the crumbs

Make

fight.

IVOR GURNEY.

XIV

Absolution anguish of the earth absolves our eyes Till beauty shines in all that we can see.

THE War

our scourge ; yet war has made us wise, And, fighting for our freedom, we are free. is

Horror of wounds and anger at the

And

loss of things desired

We are the happy legion,

;

all

for

foe,

those must pass.

we know

Time's but a golden wind that shakes the grass.

There was an hour when we were loth to part From life we longed to share no less than others.

Now, having claimed his heritage of heart, What need we more, my comrades and my brothers SIEGFRIED SASSOON.

Far

Better

Pass

far to pass

Away

away

BETTER While the limbs are strong and young, Ere the ending of the day, Ere youth's lusty song be sung.

Hot blood

pulsing through the veins,

Youth's high hope a burning fire, Young men needs must break the chains

That hold them from

their hearts' desire.

friends the hills, the sea, the sun,

The winds, the woods, the

How

feebly,

Could

With

clouds, the trees

youth were done,

an old man,

relish these

I'll

laughter, then,

to greet

What Fate has still in store for me, And welcome Death if we should meet, And bear him willing company.

share of fourscore years and ten

I'll

And

gladly yield to any man,

take no thought of

Contented with

" where " or " when,"

shorter span.

BETTER FAR TO PASS AWAY For

have learned what love

may be, And found a heart that understands, And known a comrade's constancy, And felt the grip of friendly hands. Come when For

may, the stern decree

to leave the cheery throng the quit sturdy company Of brothers that I work among. No need for me to look askance,

And

Since no regret

prospect mars.

My day was happy and perchance The coming night is full of stars. RICHARD MOLESWORTH DENNYS.

Battle Pieces

XVI

Dies Irae land went up in

THEAnd And

all

and curdled smoke,

the hot air thick with thunder stood

Shaken, as

And

fire

the flames flickered on the flowing blood,

oxen shake beneath a yoke

rattle all their harness

laughter broke,

A horrid And

laughter, from the steaming flood, the unpent cry of broken womanhood

Mounted

God and

Red mortal wrath

hid

him

like a cloak.

man, that so he dies For indignation just, and lightly slays, of

Sealing so bloodily his length of days,

Regarding not the splendid sacrifice, Holding the gift of life below God's price

his eternal glory

and God's

praise.

WlLLOUGHBY WEAVING. IN FLANDERS.

XVII

Babel Therefore is the

AND

still

name

called Babel

down

stood and stared far

Into that ember-glowing town

Which every

shaft

Had shorn unto Came carelessly

its

and shock of base.

Too

fate

late

Serenity.

Now torn and broken houses On to the rat-infested maze

gaze

That once sent up

rose-silver

haze

To mingle through

eternity.

The

outlines, once so strongly wrought,

city walls, are

jest

now

a thought

unto the dead who fought

Foundation

for futurity.

The shimmering sands where once Children with painted pail

Are drearly desolate, afraid To meet Night's dark humanity, 38

there played

and spade

BABEL

Whose

remakes the dead, And lays no blame on any head For all the havoc, fire, and lead,

That

silver cool

fell

When

upon us suddenly.

all

we came

Gave way

know

good

to Evil's fiery flood,

And monstrous myths Seem

of iron

and blood

to obscure God's clarity.

Deep sunk

in sin, this tragic star

Sinks deeper

still,

and wages war

Against itself ; strewn all the seas With victims of a world disease.

And we Of Babel's

are left to drink the lees direful prophecy.

OSBERT SlTWELL.

XVIII

In the Morning (Loos, 1915)

["^HE

firefly

As we

But the

east

haunts were lighted yet,

scaled the top of the parapet

grew

pale to another

;

fire,

As our bayonets gleamed by the foeman's wire And the sky was tinged with gold and grey,

And under Stiff

our feet the dead

men

by the loop-holed barricade

Food Still in

of the

bomb and

lay,

;

the hand-grenade

the slushy pool and

;

mud

Ah, the path we came was a path of blood, When we went to Loos in the morning.

A little grey

church at the foot of a

hill,

With powdered glass on the window-sill The shell-scarred stone and the broken tile, Littered the chancel, nave, and aisle

Broken the

altar

and smashed the pyx,

And the rubble covered the crucifix This we saw when the charge was done, And the gas-clouds paled in the rising As we entered Loos in the morning. ;

sun,

;

THE MORNING

The dead men

lay on the shell-scarred plain,

Where Death and

the

Autumn

held their reign

Like banded ghosts in the heavens grey

The smoke

Where

of the

powder paled away

;

riven and rent the spinney trees

Shivered and shook in the sullen breeze,

And there, where the trench through the graveyard wound The dead men's bones stuck over the ground

By The

the road to Loos in the morning.

turret towers that stood in the air,

Sheltered a foeman sniper there

They found, who

fell

to the sniper's aim,

field of

death on the

And

stiff in

khaki the boys were laid

To the

field of

fame

;

sniper's toll at the barricade,

But the quick went

clattering through the town,

Shot at the sniper and brought him down,

As we entered Loos

The dead men Toll of the

In the street

in the

morning.

lay on the cellar stair,

bomb that found them there. men fell as a bullock drops,

Sniped from the fringe of Hulluch copse.

And

the choking fumes of the deadly shell

Curtained the place where our comrades

fell.

we saw when the charge was done And the east blushed red to the rising sun

This

In the town of Loos

the morning.

PATRICK MAcGiLi..

XIX Release (COMPOSED WHILE MARCHING TO REST-CAMP AFTER SEVERE FIGHTING AT Loos)

LEAPING The

skies

wind from England, without a

stain,

Clean cut against the morning Slim poplars after rain,

The

foolish noise of sparrows

And

starlings in a

wood

After the grime of battle

know

that these are good.

Death whining down from heaven, Death roaring from the ground,

Death stinking in the nostril, Death shrill in every sound, Doubting we charged and conqueredHopeless we struck and stood;

Now when

We know

the fight that

ended

was good.

RELEASE

that have seen the strongest

Cry

The

like a

beaten child,

sanest eyes unholy,

The

cleanest hands defiled,

that have

known the heart-blood

Less than the lees of wine,

We that have seen men broken, We know man is divine. W. N. HODGSON.

XX The

New

waters saw the gilded galleys come the red east the oarsmen cast their gaze

THESE From Upon

its

brightness, and recalled the blaze

With sorrowing hearts of once proud Ilium. Men without homes they were, yet unafraid Westward they fared some far-off home to seek, whose power revenged them on the Greek, And round these seas a mighty empire made.

Their

sires,

Ah, strong immortal rowers, that never were Leader that lived not, deathless in the song

Sung

I bless

Rome's

glory,

'mid a martial throng,

the answer to an ancient prayer,

Clear-eyed to see what once was partly hid,

The

splendid pageant of the iEneid.

ALEXANDER ROBERTSON. IN GALLIPOLI.

XXI

The Road first

WHEN Rang And

the paving of the

Caesar's legions

find a yet

Full

many

marching Roman, seaward strode

unmastered foeman, a curse, of ancient flavour,

Rolled far along the

curse

muddy Way

;

upon the highway's paver,

Whose

Road

to the tread of the

echoes linger to this day

thousand years (when England lay Beneath the heel of the Norman raider)

The

cobbles of the age-worn

Echo the march

Way

of the mailed Crusader

many an oath, of pious fervour, Between their chaunt and roundelay,

Whilst

Gives proof to any close observer,

That men are

little

Again a thousand years

The ancient

Come All

frontier

changed to-day again

Road

enslaving,

horse and cannon, motor-train

sweep along the narrow paving. 45

THE ROAD

wondrous change, you say ? but Listen to the words they say

listen

What matter The men

cannon, petrol, piston

are just the

same to-day

GORDON ALCHIN.

XXII

Between the Trenches

HOW

strangely did you break upon That sudden land beyond life's

A moment As mine when

did your spirit

first I

veil

fail,

knew you gone

The

last dark journey, saw your clay So vacant, loveless, borne away, And the features, that I loved to scan, The same but of another man

Unknown

What

a bright dream

all

stranger did the bearers

undone.

lift

In their soiled stretcher lightly laid Where I had seen you fall adrift

From

life

had time

to be afraid

all of you that had breathed and moved, none of you that lived and loved, That, A hush that so I seemed to hate

That,

For claiming

still its lost

inmate,

false pretence, a solid shade.

BETWEEN THE TRENCHES

Shadow more solid, but less real Than love and laughter whence Across

my path with mute

And

served your

So well that even

it fell

appeal

spirit's

purpose well

could see

It indistinguishably thee, Till

you had

left it like a

With laughter

And

left

me gay,

in the

sheath

hands of death,

not miserable.

Ah, love had never more to loose If certain love had less to tell

Then might

I in

despair's excuse

Bid you a hopeless, vain farewell, the stranger's grave have wept

And by

solemn while, and sadly kept In mind his features

With breathing

Who

life,

filled

not through

love living, you

smiled upon his burial.

WlLLOUGHBY WEAVING.

XXIII

Comrades was aware

before he

BEFORE, The " Verey " light had risen It

hung

glistering.

rifle

to the

the air

could not stay his hand

And he From moving

... on

barbed wire's broken strand.

cracked.

He Night waned.

He was

fell.

alone.

heavy

shell

Whispered passing high, high overhead. His wound was wet to his hand for still it bled itself

to the

Then with

glimmering ground. a slow, vain smile his

wound he bound, home again

Knowing, of course, he'd not see

Home, whose thought he put away. " Whispered, Where's Mister Gates " I'll get him," said one. .

His men " " Out on the wire."

Dawn

blinked and the

Of the Germans heaved up and down the " Stand to "

fire

line.

Too

late

" !

I'll

get him." 49

the swine,

COMRADES

When we might "

get

him un

Corp'ral didn't see

in yet safe fall

" Ssssh

Or he'd a got un."

and whole ! "

out on patrol ".

A whisper

" 'A went down at the

last flare."

Meanwhile the Maxims toc-toc-tocked

talking there."

their swish

bullets told death lurked against the wish.

No hope

for

him

His corporal, as one shamed, Vainly and helplessly his ill-luck blamed.

Then Gates slowly saw the morn Break

in a rosy

which he

peace through the lone thorn

lay,

and

felt

Whispering through the Of No-Man's Land. .

the dawn-wind pass

pallid, stalky grass .

And

the tears came

Scaldingly sweet, more lovely than a

closed his eyes

And

grit his teeth.

The

silent

flame.

he thought of home no help could come.

He knew

sun over the earth held sway, Occasional rifles cracked, and far away

A heedless Like a

fly

speck, a 'plane, slid on alone

traversing a

cliff

of stone.

must get back," said Gates aloud, and heaved At his body. But it lay bereaved I

Of any power.

And he

lay

still.

could not wait

till

night.

Blood swam across his

sight.

COMRADES Then with "

a groan

Occasional

Well

luck ever.

cracked.

rifles

must

die alone."

cloud that shone,

Gold-rimmed, blackened the sun and then was gone.

The sun

still

Some one

The

smiled.

whistled,

grass sang

Over the

hills

in its play.

and

far

away."

Gates watched silently the swift, swift sun

Burning his

before

life

was begun.

" Now, then, Suddenly he heard Corporal Timmins' voice : *Urry up with that tea." " "Bill." His men " Hi Ginger !

Timmins and Jones and Wilkinson (" the bard It was hard

And Hughes and Simpson. Not

to see

them

Wilkinson, stubby, grim,

With his " No, sir," " Yes, sir," and the slim " " Indeed, sir ? [while it seemed he winked Simpson, Because his smiling left eye always blinked]

And

Corporal Timmins, straight and blonde and wise, With his quiet-scanning, level, hazel eyes,

And

all

the others

tunics that didn't

dozen different sorts of eyes. Oh, Was hard to lie there Yet he must. " I've I'll to them. to die. !

got

get

...

fit.

But no I'll

go."

Inch by inch he fought, breathless and mute, Dragging his carcase like a famished brute.

His head was hammering and his eyes were dim, A bloody sweat seemed to ooze out of him

COMRADES

And

then he'd freeze along his spine Before another effort of his will .

lie still

Took him one nearer yard. The parapet was reached.

He could "

not

rise to

it.

A look-out screeched,

Mr. Gates

Three figures

Two

Leaped up.

And

Gates was

one breath death " said

figures fell in toppling

lifted in.

" Who's hit

;

he.

" Timmins and " Jones." Why did they that for me " I'm gone already Gently they laid him prone

And

silently watched.

He twitched. They heard him moan, " Why for me ? His eyes roamed round and none replied. " I see it was alone I should have died." " " They shook their heads. Then^ Is the doctor here ? " He's comin', sir, he's hurryin', no fear." " No good. Lift me." They lifted him. "

He smiled and held his arms out to the dim, And in a moment passed beyond their ken, " Hearing him whisper, O my men, my men

" !

ROBERT NICHOLS. IN HOSPITAL, LONDON, Autumn, 1915.

XXIV

The Star- she II (Loos)

STAR-SHELL

holds the sky beyond

Shell-shivered Loos, and drops

In million sparkles on a pond

That

lies

by Hulluch copse.

A moment's To vanish

brightness in the sky,

at a breath,

And die away, as soldiers die Upon the wastes of death. PATRICK MACGILL.

XXV Battle Noon

midday

IT A buzz The

;

the deep trench glares.

and blaze of

flies.

hot wind puffs the giddy great sun rakes the skies.

The

No sound

men

Endure the sweat and

grit

Like cattle

Sometimes a Sometimes a

and stench,

sniper's bullet whirs

wire,

soldier sighs

in hell's frying

From out

in a pen.

Or twangs the whining As

in all the stagnant trench

forty standing

Where

airs.

and

stirs

fire.

a high, cool cloud descends

aeroplane's far

The sun The

strikes

moan, down, the thin cloud

black speck travels on. 54

rends,.

BATTLE

And

sweating, dizzied, isolate

In the hot trench beneath,

We Be

bide the next shrewd it

move

of fate

or death.

life

Night 'Bombardment

Softly in the silence the evening rain descends.

The

soft

Itself in

wind

lifts

mournful

the rain-mist, flurries sighs, drifting

from

it,

and spends

field to field,

Soaking the draggled sprays which the low hedges wield

As they labour in the wet and the load of the wind. The last light is dimming. Night comes on behind. I

hear no sound but the wind and the rain,

And trample

and lost again mist rumble dimly on

of horses, loud

Where the wagons Bringing more

in the

shell.

The It

And

not day or night

;

last

gleam

gone.

only the mists unroll

blind with their sorrow the sight of

soul.

hear the wind weeping in the hollow overhead She goes searching for the forgotten dead

hedges or trodden into muck Under the trenches or maybe limply stuck

Hidden

in the

Somewhere

He was I

in the

branches of a high, lonely tree

a sniper once.

see the mist drifting.

And on my clammy

They never found I

his body.

hear the wind, the rain,

face the oozed breath of the slain

BATTLE

Seems

Almost

to be blowing.

have heard

In the shuddering drift the lost dead's last word

Go home, go home, go to my house, Knock at the door, knock hard, arouse

wife and the children

What

Knock The

you say

at the door,

living. .

but

Say it's

knock hard, and arouse

dead won't come back

the

I soak in

cold

Soughing of the night

the

glad, full darkness

voices trail

the pale

in between.

dead had never been.

melancholy

fields

grows complete and shields

from your appeal.

With a 1

drifts

melancholy heavens,

house.

the rain

The mourning

into rain, into darkness

The Voices were as

to this

/ shan't go home again.

No, not home again

The

you must do

Tell the children too

Shrapnel found me

Away

that

terrible delight

hear far guns low like oxen, at the night.

Flames disrupt the sky. The work is begun. " Action " My guns crash, flame, rock, and stun Again and again. Soon the soughing night !

loud with their clamour and leaps with their light.

The imperative chorus

rises

heart glows lighted as by

sonorous and fires

of hell,

fell

BATTLE Sharply

pass the terse orders down.

The guns stun and

rock.

The

hissing rain

blown

Athwart the hurtling shell that shrilling, shrilling goes Away into the dark to burst a cloud of rose

Over

their trenches.

pause

stand and see

Lifting into the night like founts incessantly,

The

pistol-lights' pale spores

upon the glimmering

Under them furrowed trenches empty,

And

rain snowing trenchward ghostly

dead

in the hedges, sleep

air.

pallid, bare.

and white,

ye well to-night

ROBERT NICHOLS.

XXVI

The Assault beating of the guns grows louder. " Not long, boys, now." heart burns whiter, fearfuller, prouder ;

THE My

Hurricanes grow As guns redouble their

fire.

Through the shaken periscope peeping glimpse their wire Black earth, fountains of earth I

rise,

Spouting Death's fountains are playing, Shells like shrieking birds rush over

Crash and din

leaping,

shocks of meeting waves.

;

rises higher.

stream of lead raves

Over us from the Crash.

left

(we safe under cover Crash !

Reverberation.

Acrid smoke billowing.

Black smoke

drifting.

Flash upon The German

Vanishes in confusion, smoke.

Of our men, You're for

" Gah

yer swine,

it," die

In a hurricane of

shell.

flash.

line

Cries,

and cry

THE ASSAULT

One "

cry

;

We're comin' soon

There

Over

opened

there.

Rifles

and

look out

Fragments

men

bits of

Of machine-guns

fly,

whirled at the sky

chattering.

redoubled battering

in fury at their daring.

home

house on a sunlit

like a flickered page.

Time soon now

staring.

Time soon now Gone

sudden

zero

will

engage

thrill.

Fix bayonets." Gods we have our !

fill

fear, hysteria, exultation, rage

Rage

to kill.

heart burns hot, whiter and whiter, Contracts tighter and tighter,

Until

I stifle

Long

forged,

with the will

now used

(Though utterly strained)

pounding heart,

Baffled, confused,

sudden bout

And

No good

" !

hell

Dust, smoke, thunder.

hill.

THE ASSAULT

<X)

Heart panged, head singing dizzily pained To do my part. Blindness a moment.

There the men

are.

Bayonets ready

click

Time goes quick

A stumbled

Sick.

;

prayer

In a blue night

somehow

where

a blazing star

Again prayer.

The tongue How's time

trips.

Start

Two

Soon now.

The guns' fury mounting Their utmost.

Those hearts

I lift

beautifully

Now

beautifully

less.

higher.

Unseen

a silent hand.

will follow

And

minutes or

me.

will grips.

Soul calm and round and filmed and white

A I

shout

Men, no such order as

retire

nod.

The I

" !

whistle's twixt

lips.

catch

wan, worn smile at me.

Dear men

The

pale wrist-watch.

The

quiet hand

ticks

on amid the

din.

The guns again Rise to a last fury, to a rage, a lust Kill!

Pound!

Kill!

Pound! Pound!

" !

I bless

THE ASSAULT

Now

comes the thrust,

part

dizziness

The

These men.

will

great guns

but trust

rise.

Their fury seems to burst the earth and skies

They

lift

Gather, heart,

thoughts that drift

all

;

steel, soul.

Compress thyself Into a round, bright whole.

cannot speak. \

Time I

Time

hear

whistle shriek

Between teeth

set,

fling an arm up, Scramble up the grime I

Over the parapet I'm up.

on.

Something meets

Head down

wail

us.

into the storm that greets us.

Lights.

Blurr.

Gone.

On, on. Spatter.

Lead. Whirr.

Lead.

Hail.

Whirr.

THE ASSAULT

" Toward that patch of brown, a stream. Direction left." Bullets :

Devouring thought crying in a dream Men, crumpled, going down. .

The loudening tornado

Deafness, Numbness.

Mud.

Bullets.

Stumbling and skating.

voice's strangled shout

Steady pace, boys

The "

;

Go.

on.

still

Look,

light sir,

gladness.

look out

Bunched

Revolver levelled Flick!

Red

figures waiting.

quick

Flick!

as blood.

Germans.

Good

Germans.

Oh, good

Cool madness.

ROBERT NICHOLS. 1916. Note. (i) "Zero" is the hour agreed upon by the Staff when the infantry are to go over the parapet of the trench and advance to the attack, (2) Guns are said to "lift" when, after pounding the front line of the enemy, they lengthen their range and set up a barrier of fire behind his

front line to prevent supports

moving

up,

Our infantry then advance.

XXVII

Light

Darkness

after

more the Night,

ONCE Eclipsing horrors

some great dark drop-scene

for a brief entr'acte,

Descends, lead-weighty. Now the space between, Fringed with the eager eyes of men, is racked spark-tailed lights, curvetting far and high, Swift smoke-flecked coursers, raking the black sky.

And

one more

as each sinks in ashes grey,

Rises to

fall,

and so through

all

the hours

by the score, success and powers,

strive like petty empires

They Each

confident of

And,

hovering at its zenith, each will

its

show

Pale, rigid faces, lying dead, below.

There shall they

lie,

tainting the innocent air,

Until the dawn, deep veiled in mournful grey,

Sadly and quietly shall lay them bare, The broken heralds of a doleful day. E.

HULLUCH ROAD, October 1915.

WYNDHAM TENNANT.

XXVIII

Birds in the Trenches fearless birds that live

YE Can Your

And

venture not and

and

live,

where men

fly

that even build

nests where oft the searching shrapnel shrilled

conflict rattled like a serpent,

when

The hot guns thundered further, and from his den The little machine-gun spat, and men fell piled In long-swept lines, as

And Ye

tall

when a scythe has

slight

ambassadors twixt foe and

foe,

Small parleyers of peace where no peace Sweet disregarders of man's miseries

And

his

thrilled,

corn tumbled ne'er to rise again.

is,

most murderous methods, winging slow perilous nests we thank you, so

About your

Unconscious of sweet domesticities.

WlLLOUGHBY WEAVING.

XXIX To a Baby

found paddling near the Lines

O Baby

HAIL! In the

of the

May

bubbling river-bed,

Playing where the cannon play, With the shrapnel overhead !

Sparkling in and flashing out Through the eddies and the shallows,

With your

feet among And your head among

the trout, the swallows

;

While the wag-tails on the daisies

Lead you

in the

minuet,

Twinkling through the flow'ry mazes, Baby, do you quite forget That, with shrapnel overhead,

Other babes are put to bed

may the buttercup, When you tumble, pick you up Baby, If

you

fall

beside the willow,

Lilies rise to

be your pillow 65

;

TO A BABY

In the winter should you go Straying far without a

rest,

Down

beneath the drifting snow you be the mouse's guest ;

May May the bull-frog be your Knight, And the tit your Templar true !

May

the fairy guide you right

Wandering through a misty land, At the crossings of the dew,

With the rainbow Should you

fall

hand

in her

And go tumbling down the May the heron in the air Take you

And

floating

of kings

sky,

his wings,

the cloudlets be your

Over palaces

from branches high

stair,

Riding high above the wold, Larks your sentinels shall be, Challenging with tongues of gold

Those who try to cage the

So, philosopher of

With

free

May,

blessing go your

way

you win such friends as these You need never have a care, If

Cannon you may

And may

safely tease,

juggle, at

With the whizzbang

your

ease,

in the air

TO A BABY

Though the world be

full of sadness,

You may still have fun and And be happy for a day,

gladness,

Playing where the cannon play.

HERBERT ASQUITH.

XXX The Rear-guard (HlNDENBURG LlNE, APRIL

ROPING

along the tunnel step by step,

He winked From

side to side,

his prying torch

with patching glare

and

unwholesome

sniffed the

air.

Tins, bottles, boxes, shapes too vague to know,

mirror smashed, the mattress from a bed

And

he, exploring, fifty feet

The rosy gloom

;

below

of battle overhead.

Tripping, he grabbed the wall

saw some one

;

lie

asleep, half-hidden by a rug ; Humped And stooped to give the sleeper's arm a tug.

and

" I'm looking

for Headquarters."

reply.

" " God blast your neck (for days hid had no sleep), " Get up and guide me through this stinking place." Then, with a savage kick at the silent heap,

flashed his

beam

across a livid face 68

THE REAR-GUARD Horribly glaring up ; and the eyes yet wore Agony dying hard ten days before ;

And

twisted fingers clutched a blackening wound.

Alone, he staggered on until he found

Dawn's ghost, that

Who At

filtered

down

a shafted stair

the dazed, muttering creatures underground,

hear the

last,

boom

of shells in muffled sound.

with sweat of horror

in his hair,

climbed through darkness to the twilight Unloading hell behind him, step by step.

air,

SIEGFRIED SASSOON.

The Sea Affair

XXXI

The Old "

Way

deeply regret to report the loss of H.M. ships. Despatch (" The Times," July 7th, 1916).

Sir John

Jellicoe's

^HERE'S

a sea that lies uncharted far

beyond the

setting sun,

And

a gallant fleet was sailing there whose fighting days are done,

Sloop and galleon, brig and pinnace,

all

the rigs you never

met, Fighting

frigate,

canvas set

grave three-decker with their snowy

;

Dozed and dreamed, when, on a sudden, ev'ry

sail

began

to swell,

For the breeze has spoken strangers, with a

stirring tale to

tell,

And

a thousand eager voices flung the challenge out to sea

" Come they hither free

And

in the old

way,

in the

only

way

that's

" ?

the flying breeze called softly

Through the winters and the waters 73

" In the old way, of the North,

THE OLD WAY

They have waited, ah the waiting

! in the old way, to the Forth. Pentlands Strong and patient, from the There was fog 'to blind and baffle off the headlands,

There were gales to beat the worst that ever blew, But they took it, as they found it, in the old way,

And

'Twas a

know

often helped to think of you."

under

frigate,

stun-sails, as she gently

gathered

way Spoke

in jerks, like all the frigates,

to stay

who have

little

time

" We'd to hurry, under Nelson, thank

timbers

was

tough,

For he worked us as he loved

Are the English few ?

mad

as ever

us, ?

and he never had enough.

Were the

frigates just as

(Will their sheets be always stranding, ere the rigging's

rove anew

Just as Saxon slow at starting, just as weirdly wont to win

Had

they frigates out and watching "

signals in

Did they pass the

And the laughing Breeze made answer " In the old way You should see the little cruisers spread and fly, :

Peering over the horizon, in the old way,

And a seaplane up and wheeling in the sky. When the wireless snapped The enemy is sighted,' '

were comparatively new, Why, the sailor-men were cheering, in the old way, So I naturally smiled, and thought of you." If his accents

;

THE OLD WAY Then a courtly voice and came

stately from a tall three-decker

She'd the manners of a monarch and a story in her name : " We'd a winter gale at even, and my shrouds are aching yet,

was more than time

for reefing

when

the upper sails were

set.

we chased in woful weather, till we closed in failing light, Then we fought them, as we caught them, just as Hawke So

had bid us

And we swept

fight

;

the sea by sunrise, clear and free beyond a

doubt.

Was

thus the matter ended

Cried the Breeze

" :

when the enemy was out

They fought and followed

in the

old way, For they raced to make a record all the while, With a knot to veer and haul on, in the old way,

That had never even met the measured mile

And

the guns were making merry in the twilight. That the enemy was victor may be true,

he hurried into harbour

Still

And

wondered

in the old

way

he'd ever heard of you."

Came a gruff and choking doom

chuckle, and a craft as black as

Lumbered laughing down

to leeward, as the bravest

her room. 8

gave

THE OLD WAY

" Set 'un

blazin',

good your Lordships,

for the tide

makin' strong, Proper breeze *

'Tis the

to. fan

Hold

humble duty, from Lord Howard

Torch,' wi' '

'board the

We'm

a fireship, set 'un drivin' out along

Ark,'

a laughin'-stock to Brixham, but a terror after dark. an' bilge a-nigh to burstin', pitch

and sulphur, tar an*

all,

Was

it so,

Admiral

dear, they'm fashioned for

Cried the Breeze

" You'd hardly know

Lord High

from the old

way you waken at the fight ?). Stricken shadows, scared and flying in the old way

(Gloriana, did

From

the swift destroying spectres of the night,

There were some that steamed and scattered south for safety,

From

the mocking western echo

Where be

There were some that

And

got the message in the old way, the flashes in the darkness spoke of you."

There's a wondrous Golden Harbour, far beyond the setting sun,

Where a

gallant ship

may

anchor when her fighting days

are done,

Free from tempest, rock and battle,

toil

and tumult safely

o'er,

Where the

breezes

evermore.

murmur

softly

and there's peace

for

THE OLD WAY They have climbed the from

And

they are standing

sea,

the Pilot

Comes

last horizon,

makes the Haven where a ship

at last the glorious greeting, strangely

glad to be

new and ages

old,

See the sober grey

And

shining like the

Tudor green and gold

the waiting jibs are hoisted, in the old way,

As the guns begin to thunder down the Hear the silver trumpets calling, in the

line

old

;

way

Over

all the silken pennons float and shine. " Did you voyage all unspoken, small and lonely Or with fame, the happy fortune of the few ? So you win the Golden Harbour, in the old way,

There's the old sea welcome waiting there for you."

RONALD HOPWOOD.

XXXII

Song of

HEY

White Ensign*

the

made an Order

in Council ('twas in eighteen

sixty-four)

That gave me

proud position

the sign of a man-of-

war,

And

there isn't a tropic island or a bay where the anchors

hold

But knows that

I fly

for

Freedom and Honour worth more

than gold.

Tens of thousands pay homage, as they loving hands

And

free

my soul in the morning to

bands

the

raise

drums

of a

with

hundred

;

And

thousands again salute the west,

For

as the sun sinks

Lords have decreed that the sun and

together to

down

go down

rest.

hoisted in the morning, the band plays the National and men on deck face the ensign and salute. As " Sunset call " the ensign is hauled down at sunset, the bugles sound the and all officers and men on deck face the ensign and salute. The white i

As the ensign

Anthem and

ensign

is laid

all officers

over the

coffins of

naval

men

during funerals.

SONG OF THE WHITE ENSIGN I flaunt

head

in the breezes that the ice-bound Pole

sends forth

curse and chatter in the hail-swept frozen

my halliards North

And

;

there's never t'gallant

But dip

an ocean steamer or

his

mate with

yard

their colours in passing to

show me

their

due

regard.

off

appeared

the Rio de Oro and secured the Atlantic

trade, I

showed

off

from

the Isle of Fernandez and saved the Pacific

raid*

;

From barren Perim But knows

of the

to Delgado, there isn't a creek or

power behind

me and

bay

the price that

enemies pay.

drooped

in the

shame I

prayed

;

for the

fame

From Java

Karun River, but my head wasn't hung for winds to gather so the Arabs might chant

* ;

Aden, from Frisco to Sea of Timor, the hearts of thousands when my colours

to Gulf of

There's joy in

are seen off shore.

H.M.S. Highflyer defeated Kaiser Wilhelm. Sinking of the Dresden.

Konigsberg, etc.

Mesopotamia.

SONG OF THE WHITE ENSIGN

They

me and pocked my

scarred

beauty with the bursts of

their well-aimed shell,

When

they found

of Coronel

showing

;

hated being torn and tattered

to mend, But they saw

colour to the westward

;

they gave

honour untarnished,

for

no time

halliards

held to the end.

covered the sleeping corpses, for they slept there for

sake,

And

tethered myself to the shingle,

me wake

till

country bade

;

Then I once more danced to the wind's tune and the Southern oceans knew That the men and the ships they carried were

safer because

I flew.

strained at

Matapan It

my bow-taut halliards from

Messina to Cape

1 ;

wasn't the wind that frayed me, but the speed of the ships in the van ;

And

for

many

a long day after,

I flew

midst despair and

loss,

But none disputed the honour red cross.

jack and

Chase of the Goeben.

Dardanelles.

great

SONG OF THE WHITE ENSIGN Tens of thousands

revile

me and

pray for

8l colours to

fade,

But

I've covered ten thousand corpses

debt

paid

For thousands

and

I'll fly till

the

;

will fight for

honour, so long as

halliards last,

And

halliards are shattered, fight

when I'm

nailed, to the mast.

WILLIAM M. JAMES.

XXXIII

Undying Days

the

FROM The

Portsmouth High Street north

to the Scottish shore

post-chaise carried the message

ninety-four

Men

George

;

'twas in seventeen

;

quaffed their ale on the village green and danced to

the fiddler's tune,

And

talked of

Howe and

the

men he

led

on the glorious

First of June.

They sang and they danced, for they'd lost all fear Of losing their maids and their baccy and beer. Flom Plymouth Hoe to Harrow Hill

to Yeovil town, through

Just twenty-nine years after,

men

Reading

called for their host to

fill

Their tankards up with English ale and the fiddler to scrape a tune,

And

talked of Broke and the Shannon's tars and the Battle of First of June. 82

UNDYING DAYS

They danced and they toasted the

And

sang of the guns

and the men

frigate's crew,

in blue.

Once more from Plymouth and Portsmouth towns the news has spread like fire, .

Instead of the chaise and miles of wire

Though

beer

its

sweating team,

carried

;

scarce and tobacco dear,

it's

and no

fiddlers

to grve a tune,

Men

and prayed for " a First of June." No song and no dance, but a quiet content For the news that their great grey ships have sent. talk of the fleet that held the field,

Merchants sailed from the Port of Leith and passed by the

And

Head

the sea to to the

Skaw,

them looked

Danish shore

But the skippers knew fathom patch

all

the same from St. Abb's

;

of the Fisher

Bank and

the fifteen-

;

You'd have heard of of the

too in Jutland,

when they

talked

" last night's catch."

They worked and fished on the slippery decks With never a thought of gun-swept wrecks. Travellers sailed from the Port of Hull to land on Stavanger pier,

And

they never looked at the soundings, or thought of the course to steer ;

UNDYING DAYS

But the skippers knew can "

find

of the

at eight

You'd have heard

Dogger Bank where the lead

;

too at Grimsby town,

when the

boats were a few days late.

The packers and

fishwives

knew

For that's where their men got the

But now the merchants from Port

And

well, fish to sell.

of Leith will ask for the

shallow patch, the Jutland men will haul their nets, fearing for what they'll catch

Talking ever of

;

homes that shook when the great grey

vessels fought

And

sent out

fleet

on an

enterprise, crippled

and back

in port.

They'll marvel at

men

who'll struggle and

For the sake of the maids

The

drown

an East Coast town.

from the Port of Hull will ask for the

travellers, too,

Dogger Bank,

And And

think of the day the great ships met, and the place where the Bltoeher sank ; talk of the deeds of sailor folk

homes and

And an enemy

And

fought for their

trade, baffled

an East Coast They'll

who

by English

strength, turned from

raid.

know they

skilfully

travel because

men fought men wrought.

handled what strong

UNDYING DAYS Thousands who never have seen the

85 sea, or the great

grey

lithe black shapes of the smaller craft, or the

scud

steel-clad forms,

Or the

North Sea storms, Will talk of armour and shells and guns, and the battle by Horn Reef light, of the

And

of sunken ships

of a short

May

and of brave deeds done

in the

hours

night.

but they've lost the fear song and no dance Of losing their maids and their baccy and beer. !

WILLIAM M. JAMES.

XXXIV

To a 'Naval Cadet LOST

H.M.S. " HOGUE," NORTH SEA, AUGUST 1914

HERO

of tender age,

Scarce had you turned a page

Of the

fair

Book

of Life, ere

was ended

As bud by autumn nipped, Closed Youth's sweet manuscript,

Dust once again to dust descended. Called from the sheltered peace

Of naval

colleges,

True to the training and the breed

of you,

Putting your games aside,

You thrilled with boyish pride To think that now your Motherland had need Not yours

know

delight

In the keen, hard-fought fight, The shock of battle and the battle's thunder

But suddenly

to feel

Deep, deep beneath the keel, The vital blow that rives the ship asunder. 86

;

of you.

TO A NAVAL CADET

Well might a soul more staid Than yours have been afraid

whom th' encroaching sea no fear could waken, So to your end you passed Steadfast unto the last, In

Bearing your boyhood's courage

But

still

unshaken.

ere the icy breath

Of that grim spectre Death

Had any power

to affright or pain you,

Hovered around your head Shades of our Greater Dead I like

For

to think

all

welcome and sustain you.

your tender years,

Amidst your mother's tears must there be one glowing thought of pride

Still

And

for her,

those less fortunate

Must envy you your

fate

So to have served your Land and to have died for her.

NOEL

M. CORBETT.

XXXV Lines written somewhere in the

North Sea

THE

laggard hours drift slowly by

;

while silver mist-

wreaths veil the sky

And

iron coast wheron, flung high, the

North Sea breaks

foam.

When

flame the pallid Northern Lights on seeming agelong winter nights,

Then oftentimes for our delight God sends a dream of Home.

And once

again

we know

the peace of

little

red-roofed

villages

That

nestle close in

some deep crease amid the

rolling

wealds

That northward, eastward, southward sweep, fragrant with thyme and flecked with sheep,

To where the corn is standing deep above the ripening fields.

And once

again in that stream

fair

dream

Now gloomy-green and now agleam Mill,

I see

the sibilant, swift

that flows by Furnace

SOMEWHERE

LINES WRITTEN

And

THE NORTH SEA

hear the plover's plaintive cry above the

common

Holtye,

When I

Oh,

redly glows the dusky sky and

all

the woods are

still.

as of old, the copse aflame with russet

remember

gold,

The sweet

half-rotten scent of mould, the while

stand and

hark

To unseen woodland

life

that

before the clamant

stirs

gamekeepers, sudden, out a pheasant whirrs to "

Till,

mark

And

cries of

" Mark cock,

there are aged inns that

sell

the mellow, cool October

ale,

What

time one

tells

an oft-told

tale

around the friendly

fires,

Until the clock with muffled chime asserts that

it is

closing

time,

And

now white with rime

o'er the fields

the

company

retires.

How

long ago and far our dreams,

fruitful fields

we know

Who

seems, this peaceful country of

and purling streams

the England that

holds within her sea-girt ring

love can bring

all

that

love,

and

;

Ah, Life were but a little thing to give to keep her so

NOEL

M. CORBETT.

XXXVI Battle of the Falkland Isles Juan Fernandez off Valparaiso Bay, 'Twas there that Cradock sought

THE

Isle

The

action that he fought

For he said

" To run from numbers

not our English

way,

Nor do we question why

We Though

are fore-ordained to die."

guns were scooping water and his tops were

his

blind with spray.

In the red light of the sunset his ships went

He and

his

Were never

And Von Spec he

brave

down

in flame,

men

seen again,

stroked his beard, and said

" Those

Englishmen are game,

But

their dispositions are

glorious than

Those that greyhounds

set

war

;

on mastiffs are surely much to

blame." 90

BATTLE OF THE FALKLAND ISLES

Then the Board of Admiralty to Sir Doveton Sturdee " Take a proper naval force

And And show

said

steer a sou'west course,

the world that England

is still

Power to dread."

Like scorpions and whips

Was And

vengeance to his ships,

Cradock's guiding spirit flew before their line ahead.

tropic seas they shore like a

Through

meteor through the

sky,

And

the dolphins in their chase

Grew weary The

of the. race;

swift grey-pinioned albatross behind

them could not

fly,

And

they never paused to rest Upon the ocean's breast

Till their

southern shadows lengthened and the Southern

Cross rode high.

Then

Sir

Doveton Sturdee said ear

in his flagship captain's

By yon

'Tis the

kelp and brembasteen

Falkland

Isles, I

ween,

Those moliymauks and velvet-sleeves they signal land

near,

Give your consorts

all

the sign

To swing out into line, And keep good watch 'twixt ship and Spec appear."

ship

till

Graf von

The Germans

like grey

shadows came stealing round the

Horn,

as a wolf-pack prowls

With blood upon

its

jowls,

Their sides were pocked with, gun-shots and their guns

were battle-worn,

And

their colliers

down the wind

Like jackals trailed behind,

'Twas thus they met our cruisers on a bright December morn.

Like South Atlantic

rollers half a

mile from crest to crest,

Breaking on basalt rocks In thunderous battle-shocks, So our heavy British metal put their armour to the

And

the Germans hurried north,

As our But our

test.

lightnings issued forth,

battle-line closed

round them

like a sickle east

and west.

Each ship was as a pillar of grey smoke on the Or mists upon a fen,

sea,

Till they burst forth again

From

their wraiths of battle-vapour

made

free

by wind and speed

;

Three hours the action sped, plunging by the head, The Scbarnhorst drowned the pennant of Admiral von Till,

Spec.

BATTLE OF THE FALKLAND ISLES

At the end

two hours more her

sister ship

went down

Beneath the bubbling wave,

The Gneisenau found her

And

grave,

Niirnberg and Leipzig, those

cities of

renown,

Their cruiser god-sons, too,

Were both

pierced through and through,

There was but one of

all five

ships our gunners did not

drown.

'Twas thus that Cradock died, 'twas thus Von Spec was slain,

'Twas thus that Sturdee paid

The 'Twas thus

Germans made, George's Ensign was laundered white

score those St.

Save the Red Cross over

The graves That England

of those

as of yore

who

may

again,

all fall,

be Mistress of the Main. I.

XXXVII

Guns

LET And

me get

at Sea

back to the guns again,

hear them calling

me, ask

all I

my own ship,

In the long, dark nights,

and the surge

when

of the

open

sea,

the stars are out, and the

clean salt breezes blow,

And

the land's foul ways are half forgot, like nightmare,

and

know

That the world real

In the

work

good, and

life

worth while, and man's

to do,

Nature's school, to see which of us

final test, in

rings true.

shore, in peace,

men

cheat and

lie

but you can't do

that at sea,

For the sea

strong

;

your work

weak, vain

the

weakling's plea " " I'm " It shall first offence or not only young," or

Of a "

happen again," For the sea finds out your weakness, and writes

its

lesson

plain.

" The

liar,

the slave, the slum-bred cur

ashore, say

let

them stay

GUNS AT SEA "

For,

mark

they The land

well,

they come to me,

break them and

die. is

kind to a soul unsound

;

find

and probe the

flaw,

For

the tears of eternity that rock to eternal law."

love the touch of the clean salt spray on

love to feel the long ship leap,

hands and

hair and face,

when she

feels

the sea's

embrace,

While down below

the straining hull, o'erhead the gulls

and clouds, And the clean wind comes

'cross the vast sea space,

and

sings its song in the shrouds.

But now

dreams, besides the sounds one always

hears at sea, I

hear the mutter of distant guns, which

call

and

call

me, " Come Singing :

The day

here for which you have

waited long."

And women's

tears,

and craven

fears, are

drowned

in that

monstrous song. So whatever the future hold

in store, I feel that I

must

go>

where, thro' the shattering roar,

whispers low " The craven, the weak, the

hear a voice that

man

with nerves, from

they must keep away,

a dreadful price in shattered nerves,

they pay.

and broken health

GUNS AT SEA

But send me the man who of

calm and strong,

in the face

roaring blast,

shall tested

can go to his home, his friends, his kin, to his

mighty

fires,

and

shall live

at the last, life e'er

war began,

With

a new-found soul, and a new-found strength,

knowing

himself a man."

IMTARFA.

XXXVIII JVevps

of Jutland '

JUNE 3RD, 1916

(On June 3, 1916, when the news of our sad losses in our first great naval battle off the Jutland Bank had just come to hand, I went fishing with a sailor in the Naval Reserve. The following lines are, almost word for word, a transcript of his talk.)

* I

^HE

news had flashed throughout the land, The night had dropped in dread

What would

the morrow's sunrise

Of England's mighty dead

What homes were wrecked To At

morn

sought

The fisherman

What

bleed in sorrow's school

early

tell

hearts were

friend,

of Poole.

waited there beside the steps

The boat rocked just below " You're ready, m'm ? The morning's :

thought as how you'd go dug the bait an hour agone I

calls

The news Step

'em

is !

lug-worms

grave

Your

here.

Aye, so I've heard

skirt

fine

clear.

doomed

NEWS OF JUTLAND "

brothers

m'm

No,

Any

Nor

fortnight yet

news, you ask

like to

Maybe

they're both

Asleep beneath the sea I

saw 'em

two

start

agone

years,

and

Next August

says

We'll see 'em back by Christmas time But we don't know God's ways !

I'll

round the fishing-boats

pull her

The

Polly's lying there

D'you see her, m'm ? The For weather foul or fair It's just

the

As seems Alive

prettiest

smack

ways they've builded her to

make her

feel

She's fifty sovereigns' worth

O' lead along her keel.

Fine

men my

Her up

brothers war

Is built

boom

against this

Don't fear to move with

free

lots o'

I'll tie !

This here boat

room

You're safe with Jacob Matthews, He's ne'er been called a fool

By any As "

m'm

of the fisher-folk

lives in little

How many

left

off

Poole Well,

maybe

one by one.

They've gone be gone myself Afore the war is done.

It's likely I'll

half

;

NEWS OF JUTLAND month

Attested just a

And It's

passed for

shallow here for

The *'

fit

agone,

and sound flat-fish,

m'm,

boat's well-nigh aground.

throw your line out that'll do Aye, fights on sea are grave

I'll

There

ain't lift

There

no Red Cross people there off

you

ain't

No places to You got to go

the

wave

cover lie

you can take,

down

wi' .red-hot shells

Just helping you to drown

minds

Had

me of

a night

we men

got the life-boat out.

They'd 'phoned us up

With many

And

off

a cheer and shout

pulled

rowed her hard up to the wind,

And

clear the moonlight shone

But when we reached

you see, just there Both ship and crew were gone !

cruised around for half an hour

Ah, m'm, our hearts was sore

We'd looked

throw the line to them, 'em safe to shore bring Aye these blue waves ha' swallowed up More finer men than me to

And

But we've been always fisher-folk, And we can't fear the sea !

NEWS OF JUTLAND

IOO

there's a catch Aye, pull on your second hook Well, that's as odd a little fish

Why,

'Tis

took

e'er a line ha'

I've ne'er seen nothing like

Don't touch

wi'

it,

m'm

your hand

These strange 'uns prick like poison, m'm, Sometimes you understand ? "

I'll

take

it off

You wonder what I

couldn't say

won't hurt me called

it's

That ever yet was hauled

name

it if

The rummest thing

A farthing's worth I'd

queerness,

'twas priced

m'm,

young John Dory ? No they bears The marks o' Jesus Christ.

" You'll see His

Where

Beyond the

and His thumb

fingers

are they gills

Well, a bit

look

Here's the place,

Just where I'm holding it So this ain't no John Dory, m'm !

I'll

You'll

put

safe

away

your friends you pulled The bottom o' Poole Bay tell

from

" 'Twas better than a submarine

There

ain't

such devils here

We've got the North Sea trawlers down,

They keeps the harbour

clear

NEWS OF JUTLAND

You saw

a heap o* tangled wire

A-lyin' on the

And thought Aye, m'm "

quay

as they'd just hauled

That's

We're what they

how

calls a

Naval Base

seen

'Tis

'twould be.

war abroke

Since this here

You

it up ? Aye, yonder there hard for fisher-folk

We gets our catches

in the night

But we mayn't leave the Bay Save when the sun is on the sea

You

don't catch

" But we've our

We got

To take our

nor we. *

to get a

much

bit to bear, as

men

richer

much by day

now

permit

nets to sea.

dawn if tides is right when the sun be gone, And, Unless we lie inside the booms We'd like be fired upon starts at

;

You want

to see the mack'rel shoals

They come

Yon house

in black as

from roof to

that's tarred

Just there, beside the

quay

floor

smack's up now by Christchurch steps,

I've got I'll

see

take you out

If so

permit o'

signed

Thursday next

be you've a mind

NEWS OF JUTLAND

102 I

shan't be gone

Until If you'll I'll

Not yet

gets the call

come

out,

waits

m'm, with the

promise you a haul

You're safe with Jacob Matthews, He's ne'er been called a fool

By any

nets,

m'm

of the fisher-folk

The war has

left in

Poole

" !

ROMA WHITE.

War

the

103

Air

XXXIX Ryes

OUR And

Air

in the

guns are a league behind

us,

our target a mile

below,

there's never a cloud to blind us

from the haunts of

our lurking foe

Sunk

pit

whence

his shrapnel tore us, support-trench crest

concealed,

clear as the charts before us, his

ramparts lie revealed. His panicked watchers spy us, a droning threat in the void ; Their whistling shells outfly us puff upon puff, deployed Across the green beneath us, across the flanking grey, In fume and fire to sheath us and baulk us of our prey. Before, beyond, above her,

Their iron web

spun Flicked but unsnared we hover, Edged planes against the sun

Eyes

in the air

above

his lair,

The hawks that guide the gun

No word from

earth

may

reach us, save, white against the

ground,

The

strips outspread to teach us

sound

105

whose ears are deaf to

EYES IN THE AIR

IO6

But down the winds that

sear us, athwart our engine's

shriek,

and know they hear

send

us,

the ranging guns

speak.

Our

visored eyeballs show us their answering pennant,

broke Eight thousand feet below us, a whorl of flame-stabbed

smoke

The burst that hangs

to guide us, while

numbed gloved

fingers tap

From

wireless

key beside us the

Line

target

circles of the

map.

short or over

Come, plain as clock hands run, Words from the birds that hover, Unblinded,

tail to

sun

;

Words out of air to range them fair, From hawks that guide the gun

Your

flying shells

dumb

have

failed you,

your landward guns are

Since earth hath naught availed you, these skies be open

Come, Where, wild

meet and mate you, flame

in their

beaks for

breath,

Black doves

the white

hawks wait you on the wind-

tossed boughs of death.

These boughs be cold without you, our hearts are hot

for

this,

Our wings kiss

;

shall beat

about you, our scorching breath shall

EYES Till,

fraught with that

You bank

THE AIR

we gave

you,

fulfilled of

our desire,

too late to save you from biting beaks of

fire

Turn sideways from your lover, Shudder and swerve and run, ; stagger ; and plunge over Ablaze against the sun Doves dead in air, who clomb to dare

Tilt

The hawks

that guide the gun

GILBERT FRANKAU.

Command

A And

THOUSAND

of the Air

years between the sun and sea

Britannia held her court of liberty, cradled heroes in the questing waves

That were

for lesser

Then did the

men but wandering

British airman's sea-born skill

Teach wood and metal

to foresee his will

In every cog and joint his spirit stirred

The Thing

falcon

And

possessed was

man

among timorous

Hun

;

as well as bird.

fowl he

flies,

bears Britannia's battle to the skies

Vainly the

The

graves.

;

seeks covert in a cloud

clinging mist

made

his ghostly shroud.

Thus at the ringing gates of heaven's glory Begin new chapters of our island-story,

And

clarion voices of the void declare

" She who has ruled the sea

shall rule the air."

108

XLI

Song of the Plane is

THISThe

the song of the Plane creaking, shrieking plane,

The throbbing, sobbing

And

plane,

the moaning, groaning wires

The engine missing again One cylinder never fires

Hey ho This

the song of the

for the Plane

Man

The

driving, striving

The

chosen, frozen

The

pilot, the

man,

man

man-at-the-wheel,

Whose limit is all that he can, And beyond, if the need is real Hey ho for the Man !

This

the song of the

Gun

The muttering, stuttering gun, The maddening, gladdening gun That chuckles with

At the

With

last,

its

evil glee

long dive of the Hun,

end

in eternity

Hey ho

109

for the

Gun

A SONG OF THE PLANE

IIO This

the song of the

The

Air-

lifting, drifting air,

The eddying, steadying The wine

May

air,

of its limitless space, it

nerve us at last to dare

Even death with undaunted face

Hey ho

for the Air.

GORDON ALCHIN.

XLII

Two Pictures

DAWN And the dewy Awakes

to life

Where on

the flying-ground

The ghostly hangars The

plain

and sound

blaze with lights again.

giant birds of prey

Creep forth to a new day, And one by one,

As morning gilds the dome, Leave the grey aerodrome

The day's begun.

Dusk

And

the vanish'd sun

Still

streaks the evening skies

Below, the prone earth

lies

Darkened, wherever warring Night has won.

The

'planes, returning,

Deep black

show

in the afterglow,

112

TWO PICTURES And one by one Drop down from

the higher

Down, down the invisible The day is done.

airs,

stairs

GORDON ALCHIN.

XLIII

Per Ardua ad Astra every soul

FORThat's claimed by Humanity, take In

the outraged wind,

toll

knowledge of the world behind The dawn-mist and the aery eventide

fuller

In greater

For every

skill

the paths of heaven to ride.

life

God knows

the price we've paid for sov'ranty

For every life Let Man exact the

full

indemnity

That unborn men secure may

The labyrinthine channels

ride at ease

of the breeze.

GORDON ALCHIN.

XLIV

Reconnaissance

JOURNEYED I

to the east,

Rolled on the surgent airs of autumn days

Below, the earth lay creased

With myriad meadows

morning haze.

where lay the sea, silvered mirror beckoned to

Far

in the

off,

And, moving orderly, The high cloud-armies marched

bent,

magnificent.

Some menace in the sky, Some quick alarm did wake me At once, unwarningly

as I sped

Streamed out repeated death, from one that

Headlong before

fled

turn

But, unavoiding of the answering blast,

Checked sudden,

And

fell

unmolested' fared

astern I to

the

last.

GORDON ALCHIN.

114

XLV The Flight

Flanders

he know the road to Flanders, does he know

DOES the'criss-cross tracks With

the row of sturdy hangars at the end

Does he know that shady corner where, the job done, we relax

the music of the engines round the bend

is coming with his gun and battle 'plane aerodrome at well, you know

here that he

To To

the a

little

wooden hut abutting on

a quiet country lane,

For he's ordered overseas and he must go.

Has he

seen those leagues of trenches, the traverses steep

and stark, High over which the British

Does he know the

pilots ride

fear of flying miles to east-ward of his

mark

When It

his only

there that he

There are

And

map

many

has vanished over-side is

going, and

takes a deal of doing,

things he really ought to

there isn't time to swot 'em

know

suing,

For he's ordered overseas and he must go.

;

a Fokker he's pur-

THE FLIGHT TO FLANDERS

Il6

Does he know that ruined town, that old

renown

Has he heard the crack of Archie bursting near ? Has he known that ghastly moment when your engine lets you down ? Has he ever had that feeling known as fear ? It's to

Flanders he

going with a brand-new aeroplane

To take the place of one that's dropped below, To fly and fight and photo mid the storms of wind and rain,

For he's ordered overseas and he must go.

'Then the hangar door flies open

And As

and

the engine starts its roar,

the pilot gives the signal with his

hand ;

he rises over England he looks back upon the shore,

For

the

Now

Lord alone knows where

he's going to land.

the plane begins to gather speed, completing lap

lap, Till, after

diving

They're of

down and skimming

low,

shattered Flanders, by the

compass and

the

map They were ordered overseas and had

to go.

LESSEL HUTCHEON.

XLVI

The Death of the Zeppelin

A A

FALSE,

false night

Across the sightless sky

Passed and repassed, again and yet again,

many-flickering smile of irony,

The hieroglyphic

A few On

of an evil thought.

pale stars glistened like drops of

the brow

The wind

the east.

sweat

There was no wind

that was not whispered in the ear

Strange, crimson syllables of gathering

doom

;

Dread, flaming obsequies were in the eye Before the fiery pencil traced them out;

And The

still

last

The

the

omens

held,

last the winge'd

still

was heard

Worm

draws near,

vulture-ship that dare not voyage by day,

The man-made Dinosaur

The

and

voice of silence, the unspoken word.

that haunts the night,

beast-like creature of a bestial mind,

Which preys by Drinking

its

choice on small and innocent lives,

blood well soothed with mothers' milk 117

THE DEATH OF THE ZEPPELIN

Il8

Whose

reeking weapons scandalise the stars,

And do most

foully

wrong the sanctuary

Of God's tempestuous

angels, the bright winds,

That haste about the globe at His behest.

Above the

violet verge of the

low east

This blind and obscene head of frightfulness Was suddenly thrust. We marked its course afar

dull pulsations of the eager guns,

The

grey, lean warders of far-listening

bursts of shell-fire,

London

mimic Leonids,

Flame-petal'd stars all blossoming blood-red. The harassed Worm sought covert in a cloud

Which, soon disparted, gave him for a prey To the implacable airman hovering near (His battle-plane was part of

him that hour

;

In every cog and joint his valour moved,

The thing possessed was man

Who

as well as bird)

pierced his bowels with a fiery bolt.

The Monster writhed

Which brake

in self-engendered flames

forth in the likeness of a rose,

A rose-white passion in the timeless night, A torch of hell brandished at heaven's gate, A piercing wonder in the million eyes Of waking London. ... At last he dropped, sombre coal of fading crimson fire,

Into his burial-place, a

field defiled.

And

then, arose the cry,

then, but not

till

Prolonged, unpitying, a cordite cheer

Of the old valiant

Which

wills

city, stark as

Time,

not mercy for the merciless.

;

THE DEATH OF THE ZEPPELIN Beyond the storied stream a bower of Caught it and cast it back, through all

trees

their leaves

Thrilled with a vocal joy of vengeance due,

Paid but in part, which shall be paid

in full.

In Memoriam

121

H. a far

IN A boy All

S. G.,

field, I

YPRES, 1916

away from England,

lies

friended with a care like love

;

day the wide earth aches, the keen wind drive on above.

cries,

The melancholy clouds

There, separate from him by a

Two eagle cousins, generous, Two Grenfells, lie, and my boy One with

little

span

reckless, free, is

made man,

these elder knights of chivalry.

Boy, who expected not this dreadful day, Yet leaped, a soldier, at the sudden call,

Drank

The

as your fathers, deeper though than they, soldier's

Not now

cup of anguish, blood, and

as friend, but as a soldier, I

Salute you fallen.

Our

gall.

greatest honour

For the is,

soldier's

name

worthily

These wayward hearts assume and bear the same II

123

THE LAST SALUTE

124

The

Soldier's

Saving

He lives, And if The

name none

his fellows.

toils,

recognise

Deeds are suffers,

not vainly spent, this

Soldier

all his

and he

flower.

dies,

his dower.

the Martyr of a nation,

Expresses but is subject to its will, His is the Pride ennobles Resignation

his the rebel Spirit-to-fulfil.

Anonymous, he takes his country's name, Becomes its blindest vassal though its lord

force of

its

arms

its

shame

called his shame,

the glory gathered by his sword.

Lonely he

Sith in his

he has nor friend nor lover,

body he

dedicate.

His comrades only share his life and offer Their further deeds to one more heart oblate.

made an " Argument Beyond " For others' peace but when hot wars have

Living, he's

;

For

all

his brothers' safety he

To Fate

birth,

bond

or Whatsoever sways this Earth.

Dying, his mangled body, to inter it, He doth bequeath him into comrade hands, His soul he renders to some Captain Spirit

That knows, admires,

pities,

and understands

THE LAST SALUTE All this

you knew by that which doth

125 reside

Deeper than learning; by apprehension

ancient, dark,

You were

and melancholy pride ; and died as one

a Soldier true

day the long wind cries, the clouds unroll, But to the cloud and wind I cry, " Be still "

All

What need of comfort has the heroic soul ? What soldier finds a soldier's grave is chill

ROBERT NICHOLS.

XLVIII

A THOU No

Dirge

art no longer here,

longer shall

see thy face,

But, in that other place,

Where may be heard The

roar of the world rushing stars

And

the

wantways

of the

;

the silver bars

Of heaven's gate Shine soft and clear

Thou mayest

down

wait.

longer shall

see

Thee walking in the crowded streets, But where the ocean of the Future beats Against the flood-gates of the Present, swirling to this earth,

Another birth

Thou mayest have Another Arcady

May

;

thee receive.

Not here thou dost remain, Thou art gone far away, 126

A DIRGE

127

Where, at the portals of the day, The hours ever dance in ring, a silvern-footed throng,

While Time looks on,

And

seraphs stand

Choiring an endless strain

either hand.

Thou canst return no more Not

;

happy time of spring Comes after winter burgeoning as the

On wood and wold in folds of living green, for thou Our

tears

art dead.

we shed

In vain, for thou

Dost pace another shore, Untroubled now.

VICTOR PEROWNE.

XLIX

R. B. was April we left Lemnos, shining sea and snow-white

camp, onward Passing

into darkness.

Lemnos shone a golden

lamp,

a low harp

tells of

thunder, so the lovely

Whispered of the dawn and battle

Lemnos

and we

;

left

air

a com-

rade there.

He who

sang of dawn and evening, English glades and

light of Greece,

Changed

his

dreaming into sleeping,

left

his

sword to

rest in peace.

Left his visions of the springtime, Holy Grail and Golden Fleece,

Took the leave that has no

ending,

till

the waves of

Lemnos

cease.

There will be enough recorders ere

this fight of ours

done,

And

the deeds of

by one

men made

little,

;

128

swiftly cheapened one

R. B.

129

Bitter loss his golden harpstrings and the treasure of his

youth

;

Gallant foe and friend

may mourn

him, for he sang the

knightly truth.

Joy was joy

his in his clear singing, clean as

the swimmer's

;

Strong the wine he drank of battle, fierce as that they

poured

Troy.

Swift the shadows steal from Athos, but his soul was

morning-swift,

Greek and English he made music, caught the cloudthoughts

let drift.

Sleep you well, you rainbow comrade, where the wind

and

light

strong,

Overhead and high above you,

let

the lark take up your

song.

Something of your singing

lingers, for the

men

me who

pass, Till all singing

ends in sighing, in the sighing of the grass.

AUBREY HERBERT.

To Certain Comrades (E. S.

AND

H.)

we loved you, yet withheld our

praises

LIVINGBefore your faces. And though

our

had you high

spirits

honour

After the English manner,

Yet

said no word.

You

Such friendship

all

Beside the

And

tell

faster.

the shocks and trials of time cannot

Shake

comrades would,

not touched by death's disaster,

But stands the

And

as such

understood.

one

fire

shall

jot.

at night

some

far

December

remember

men unbegotten

Of your sad

as yet the story

glory.

130

TO CERTAIN COMRADES

Of your plain strength, your truth Coolness

All ended

all

ended.

in their sorrow,

Come

That

of heart,

your splendid

;

hoping that

they must

to the dust,

ending such as yours

And

Yet the aching hearts of lovers

Joy over-covers Glad

131

may

be their portion

great good fortune.

we may

England

not live to serve in peace

watching increase

Then death with you, honoured and And so Not Die.

swift

and high,

IVOR GURNEY.

WHO

DIED OF WOUNDS

IN it

CAN

FLANDERS, JANUARY 1915

MEMORIAM

R. G.

be true that thou art dead

In the hour of thy youth, in the day of thy

strength

Must

thy soul has fled Through heaven's length ?

I believe

scholar wast thou, learn'd in lore

Poet was written

Thou

ne'er wast

;

in thine eyes.

meant

for

bloody war

seize in prize.

Yet when they asked

thee,

" Lo

what dost thou bring

Thou

gav'st thyself,

Thou

gav'st thy body, gav'st thy soul

Thou

gav'st thyself,

;

one consecrated whole

sacrificial torture for

thy King. 132

" ?

ODE TO A YOUNG MAN

133

lovely youth, slaughtered at manhood's dawn, In virgin purity thou liest dead,

And

slaughtered were thy sons unborn,

With thee unwed. Sleep on, pure youth, sleep at Earth's soothing breast,

king's sarcophagus

was

e'er so fine

As that poor shallow

Where

all

soldier's grave of thine, thou tak'st thy rest. ungarlanded

DYNELEY HUSSEY.

LII

Goliath FOR D.

and David

KILLED AT FRICOURT, MARCH 1916

C. T.,

earlier

David took

ONCE Smooth pebbles from the brook Out

between the lines he went that one-sided tournament,

A shepherd

boy who stood out

And young

to fight a Philistine

Clad

all in

brazen mail.

That

he's killed lions, he's killed bears,

And

those that scorn the

fine

swears

God

Zion

Shall perish so like bear or lion.

But the

Had

historian of that fight

not the heart to

tell it right.

Striding within javelin range

Goliath marvels at this strange

Goodly-faced boy so proud of strength. David's clear eye measures the length ; With hand thrust back, he cramps one knee, Poises a

moment

thoughtfully,

And

hurls with a long vengeful swing.

The

pebble,

humming from 134

the sling

GOLIATH AND DAVID Like a wild bee,

flies

a sure line

For the forehead of the

Then

And

135

Philistine,

but there comes a brazen clink,

quicker than a

man

can think

Goliath's shield parries each cast,

and clang was David's clang Clang Scorn blazes in the Giant's eye Towering unhurt six cubits high. " Damn your shield, Says foolish David, And damn my sling, but I'll not yield." !

takes his staff of

Mamre

last.

oak,

knotted shepherd-staff that's broke The skull of many a wolf and fox

Come Loud

lambs from Jesse's flocks. laughs Goliath, and that laugh Can scatter chariots like blown chaff

filching

rout

but David, calm and brave,

Holds his ground, Steel crosses

Shame

for

God

will save.

wood, a flash, and oh

for Beauty's

overthrow

(God's eyes are dim, His ears are shut.)

One

cruel

backhand sabre cut

" I'm

hit, I'm killed," young David cries, Throws blindly forward, chokes and dies. .

And

look, spike-helmeted, grey, grim,

Goliath straddles over him.

ROBERT GRAVES.

LIII

To left

YOUdream And dim

your vineyards, dreaming of the vines

where high cathedrals stand.

in the evening, so

And now you

in a

land

Italian cities

At Anzac

Anxac

sleep with

many

things

we planned,

comrades in the Anafarta sand.

There are men go gay to battle like the cavaliers to dance, And some with happy dreamings like princes in romance, And some men march unquestioning to where the answer lies,

The dawn that comes

like darkness they

meet with

lover's

eyes.

You heard

the bugles call to arms, and like a storm men's

cheers,

But

veiled behind that music,

you knew the women's

tears.

You heard the Vikings singing And passing clear beyond that 136

in a rapture to the sea,

song, the

waves of

Galilee.

AT ANZAC

TO R

You

lived for peace strife

and lived

for war,

137

you knew no

little

;

To conquer

first,

then help your

foe,

made music

your

life.

And

for the sake of those

As youth might

you

led,

you gave your

fling a coin of gold

Odin mustered Vikings, you would

Mary came

upon

life

away,

sunny day.

pagan crew. choose her knights, she'd hand her sword rule his

to you.

Men

scattered in the wilderness, or crowded in the street,

Would choose you

You'd

for their leader

and glory

find a bridge to Lazarus, or

any man

in defeat.

in pain.

There are not I

many like you that I shall see again do not grieve for you who laughed, and went into the ;

shade, I

sorrow for the dream that's

Good-bye

It's

lost, Italian

Armageddon.

You

plans

will not

we made.

prune your

vine,

Nor

taste the salt of channel winds, nor hear the singing

Rhine. You'll sleep with friends and enemies until the trumpet

sounds,

And open

are the thrones of kings,

mounds.

and

all

the Trojan

TO R

138

When women's

AT ANZAC

tears are rainbows then, that shine across

the sky,

And swords are raised in last salute, to a comrade enemy, And what men fought and failed for, or what men strove and won, Are

like forgotten

shadows, and clouds that hid the sun.

AUBREY HERBERT.

LIV

To jfohn

and

careless played

OHEART-AND-SOUL Our little band of brothers,

And never recked the time would come To change our games for others. It's joy for those who played with you To picture now what grace Was in your mind and single heart And in your radiant face. Your

light-foot strength by flood and For England keener glowed To whatsoever things are fair

field

;

know, through you, the road Nor is our grief the less thereby ; swift

;

and strong and dear, good-bye. WILLIAM GRENFELL. i

The Hon. John Manners.

139

To C. A. L.

have laughed and talked

wise, witty, fantastic,

feckless

To have mocked

and learnt to obey, To have led your men with a daring adored and reckless, To have struck your blow for Freedom, the old straight

way

at rules

and

rulers

To have hated love

the world and lived

among

those

who

it,

To have thought them

great thoughts and lived

you knew

true,

To have loved men more than prove

till

yourself and have died to

Yes, Charles, this

have lived

was there more

C. A. A.

The Hon.

Charles Lister.

140

The Future Hope

LVI

Gifts of the out,

Dead

bugles, over the rich

you

BLOWThere's none

dead

of these so lonely and poor of old, has made us rarer gifts than gold. But, dying, These laid the world away ; poured out the red

Sweet wine of youth ; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,

That men

call

age

;

and those who would have been,

Their sons, they gave, their immortality.

Blow, bugles, blow

They brought

us, for

our dearth,

Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.

Honour has come back,

as a king, to earth,

And paid his subjects with a royal wage And Nobleness walks in our ways again And we have come into our heritage.

;

RUPERT BROOKE.

143

LVII

W^ars Cataract this red

havoc of the patient earth,

IN Though higher yet the tide of battle Now

has the hero cast away disguise,

And

out of ruin splendour comes to birth.

This

And

all

the field where Death and

the lesser

company

Pale Loveliness has

And walks From

cliff

left

rise,

Honour meet,

are low

her mirror

now

the Court of Pain with silent feet.

cliff

war's cataract goes down,

booming waters to the shock ; And, tossing high their manes of gleaming spray, The crested chargers leap from rock to rock,

Hurling

its

dark though the thunder frown, The rainbows climb above to meet the day.

While over

all,

HERBERT ASQUITH.

144

LVIII

Reincarnation TOO I

remember distant golden days When even my soul was young I see the sand ;

Whirl

in a blinding pillar

towards the band

Of orange sky-line 'neath a turquoise blaze

(Some burnt-out sky spread o'er a glistening land) And slim brown jargoning men in blue and gold, I

know

The

it all

so well,

understand

ecstasy of worship ages-old.

Hear the

first

truth

Is ever in the

The

great far-seeing soul

humblest husk

;

see

How

each succeeding section takes its toll In fading cycles of old memory. And each new life the next life shall control Until perfection reach eternity. E. RAMPARTS, YPRES, July 1916.

145

WYNDHAM TENNANT.

LIX

The Dead) 1915

YE And Than

that have

hewn from

Immortal frescoes

death's dark stubborn stone

lovelier

given to sacrifice a rosier

all

than

light,

might

unstable Autumn's wealth unstrown,

And unto Life such terrible renown, And unto Love a loss so sweet and That purer than

the stars

white

he stands to-night

Smiling serene, unspeakably alone

aught of earth can reach immortal ears, May truth's white bird of rumour, mounting high, Bring you the secret of our hidden tears

And

the proud falsehood of the tearless eye

Till in the

Peath's

;

of the years

heavy wrappage be hid and sad truth seem a

self

lie.

WlLLOUGHBY WEAVING.

I 46

Two Sonnets

have adored the lofty soul of you. SAINTS Poets have whitened at your high renown.

stand

among

the

many

millions

who

hourly wait to pass your pathway down. You, so familiar, once were strange we tried :

But now

We I

your presence unaware. every road on every side

live as of

see

think

your straight and steadfast signpost there.

like that signpost in

land

which pointed me to go Upward, into the hills, on the right hand, Where the mists swim and the winds shriek and blow, A homeless land and friendless, but a land

Hoary and

did not

tall,

know and

that

wished to know.

Such, such

Death

Only an empty

no triumph

no defeat

pail, a slate rubbed clean,

merciful putting

away

what has been.

TWO SONNETS

14.8

And

this

we know

Death

not Life

Life crushed, the broken pail.

effete,

We who

have seen

So marvellous things know well the end's not yet.

Victor and vanquished are a-one in death

Ghosts do not say, " " Come, what was your record when you drew breath ? But a big blot has hid each yesterday

Coward and brave

friend, foe.

So poor, so manifestly incomplete. bright promise, withered long and sped, Is touched, stirs, rises, opens and grows sweet

And your And

blossoms and

when you are dead. CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY.

you,

LXI

Germany

are blind like us.

Your hurt no man designed,

YOUAnd no man claimed

the conquest of your land. both fields of thought confined, But, gropers through We stumble and we do not understand.

You And And And

only saw your future bigly planned, we, the tapering paths of our own mind, each other's dearest ways we stand, hiss and hate. And the blind fight the blind. in

When

it is

peace, then

we may view

again

With nevr-won eyes each other's truer form, And wonder. Grown more loving-kind and warm, We'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain,

When The

But, until peace, the storm, darkness, and the thunder and the rain. it is

peace.

CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY.

LXII

If we return we

England be IF Just England still to you and me ? The place where we must earn our bread return, will

We who

have walked among the dead, And watched the smile of agony,

And

seen the price of Liberty,

Which we had taken

carelessly

From other hands. Nay, we If we return, Dread lest we hold blood-guiltily The things that men have died to fields shall

shall dread,

free.

blossom red

Oh, English For all the blood that has been shed JBy

men whose If we

guardians are we, return.

W. HARVEY.

LXIII

People renewed

TVT OW

these like

And

L ^1

men

shall live,

like to princes fall.

They take what Fate will give At this great festival.

And

since at length they find

That

sweet indeed,

life is

They cast it on the wind To serve their country's need. See young " Adventure " there ("

Make-money-quick

that was)

Hurls down his gods that were For Honour and the Cross !

Old " Grab-at-Gold " In Flanders.

(Because

men

England

And

will

lies

low

again so)

ruled by Men. F.

W. HARVEY.

LXIV

Afterwards dreadful evidences of Man's ill-doing

THOSE The kindly Mother of

all shall

soon hide deep,

Covering with tender fingers her children asleep, Till Time's slow cycle turns them to renewing

In other forms their beauty No grief, no rueing Irrevocable woe. They'll lie, they'll steep Their hearts in peace unfathomed, till they leap

Quick to the

light of the sun, as flowers strewing,

own friends' paths. And that's not When men who knew them walk old ways alone, Maybe,

their

all.

The paths they loved together, at even-fall, Then the sad heart shall know a presence near, Friendly, familiar, and the old grief gone,

The new keen joy

shall

make

all

darkness clear.

IVOR GURNEY.

152

LXV

When "

"\7OUNG

I "

When

I shall

what

soldier, it's all

Over

if s

over

you be

will

" ?

get out and across the sea,

Where

land's cheap

I shall

make money.

and a man can Perhaps

I'll

thrive.

wive

In a place where there's room for a family. I'm a bit of a rover."

Young soldier, what will you be At the last Dismiss ? " '

" Bucked to get back to old Leicester Squa\fe, Where there's good champagne and a glad eye winking, And no more Verey Lights damnably blinking '

Their weary, dreary, white-eyed stare. I'll be out of this."

Young

soldier,

When " Blowed

The

what

will

you be

they sign the peace if

know

job's all right

;

" ?

perhaps I shall stick you take it steady. 153

it.

WHEN

154

After

And

all,

OVER

somebody's got to be ready,

tons of the blighters

Wars don't

IT'S

'11

get their ticket.

cease."

Young soldier, what will you be At the day's end ? "

" Tired's what

I'll

I shall lie

be.

on the beach

Of a shore where the rippling waves just And listen and dream and sleep and lie

sigh,

Forgetting what I've had to learn and teach

And

attack and defend."

what

will you be " next a-bed ? you're " God knows what but it doesn't matter, ;

Young

soldier,

When

For whenever

I think, I

always remember

The Belgians massacred that September,

And

England's pledge

What

Young I shall

am dead

soldier,

When "

if I

what

it's all

and the " ?

will

done

rest

seems chatter.

you be

" ?

come back and

live alone

an English farm in the Sussex Weald, Where the wounds in my mind will be slowly sealed,

And

the graves in

And

I'll sit

heart will be overgrown

in the sun."

;

155

Young soldier, what will you be At the Last Post ? " '

Cold, cold in the tender earth, cold

But

body

happy

in foreign soil; spirit fate can't spoil,

And an extra note From a khaki

in the blackbird's

mirth

ghost."

MAX PLOWMAN.

LXV1

Optimism

last there'll

dawn

the last of the long year,

Of the long year that seemed to dream no end

Whose every dawn but turned

And

slew some hope, or led

Or be you

;

more drear

away some

friend.

dark, or buffeting, or blind,

care not, Day, but leave not death behind.

The hours Death

the world

war go heavy-hearted no fare wherewith to make hearts fain

that feed on

are sick to find that they

With glamour

in their eyes

who

come not

;

started

again.

Day, be long and heavy if you will, But on our hopes set not a bitter heel.

For tiny hopes,

like tiny flowers of spring,

Will come, though death and ruin hold the land ; Though storms may roar they may not break the wing

Of the earthed lark whose song

ever bland.

Fell year unpitiful, slow days of scorn,

Your kind

shall die,

and sweeter days be born. A. V. RATCLIFFE. 156

The Christian Soldier

157

LXVII

The Cross of be with you and us

GODAnd

Wood

who go our way

leave you dead upon the ground you won. For you at last the long fatigue is done, The hard march ended ; you have rest to-day.

You were our

friends

Broke on the

village, shell-destroyed

with you we watched the dawn Gleam through the rain of the long winter night, With you we laboured till the morning light

Not now

for

;

and

torn.

you the glorious return

steep Stroud valleys, to the Severn leas

By Tewkesbury and

Gloucester, or the trees

Of Cheltenham under high Cotswold

stern.

For you no medals such as others wear

cross of bronze for those

approved brave

To you is given, above a shallow grave, The Wooden Cross that marks you resting 159

there.

THE CROSS OF WOOD

l6o

Rest you content ; more honourable far all the Orders is the Cross of Wood,

Than

The symbol Bearing the

of self-sacrifice that stood

God whose brethren you are. CYRIL WINTERBOTHAM.

LXVIII

What

WHAT Ask

War?

war

men who

the young

Men who defend

fight,

the right,

Ask them what is war ? " Honour or death that

war,"

Say the young men.

What

war

women who weep, Mourning for those who sleep,

Ask

of the

Ask them what " Sorrow and grief

war that

Say the

women.

What

war

By ways beyond God

tries

our ken,

the souls of men,

Sends retribution

just,

Punishing vice and lust, God's wrath for sin that J.

WKILBURG

A..

war,"

LAHN,

February nth, 1916.

161

war.

M. ROSE-TROUP.

LXIX

How

HOW

long,

long)

Lord,

how

Lord? long, before the flood

Of crimson-welling carnage shall abate ? From sodden plains in West and East, the blood Of kindly men steams up in mists of hate, and nations great Polluting Thy clean air ;

In reputation of the arts that bind The world with hopes of heaven, sink to the state

Of brute barbarians, whose ferocious mind Gloats o'er the bloody havoc of their kind,

Not knowing love or mercy.

Lord,

how

long

Shall Satan in high places lead the blind

battle for the passions of the strong

Oh, touch Thy children's hearts, that they may know their most hateful, pride their deadliest foe.

Hate

ROBERT PALMER.

162

LXX Release is

a healing

magic

in the night,

THERE The breeze blows cleaner than

did by day,

Forgot the fever of the fuller light, sorrow sinks insensibly away

And As

some

hand did lay

saint a cool white

the brow, and calm the restless brain.

Upon The moon

looks

down with

Sufficient for the

hour

pale unpassioned ray

is its

pain.

still

and

still

and loose the sense of God

still

longer antlike on the earth to crawl.

feel

the night that hides

away

earth's stain.

you,

and send your soul into the all, The vasty distance where the stars shine

blue,

Released from time and sense of great or small, Float on the pinions of the Night-Queen's wings

Soar

till

the swift inevitable

Will drag you back into

Yet

for

all

an hour be one with

;

fall

the world's small things all

escaped things.

COLWYN

PHILIPPS.*

* Found in his note-book when his kit came home.

163

;

LXXI

the

Lower Garden The Rose i

do you leave me always here ? For me no usefulness is found ;

WHY

have no beauty anywhere ; Will you not tear me from the ground I

The Gardener

Watch ye the lilies how they grow, They neither toil nor make complaint. Look at their gentleness, and know are a strength to stay the faint.

They

The Rose I

do not see the

And

lilies,

am weary

Lord,

of this waste.

The Gardener

Watch ye the grass upon the sward The lily never grows in haste. 164

;

THE LOWER GARDEN

165

The Rose in the grass I see a stalk

Yea,

The bending

;

leaves to left and right

Fashion a cross beside the walk. Tell

the meaning of this sight.

'The

The I

lily

makes

planted

Gardener a cross because

to give a sign

That what the Word

God once was

Shall ever be the truth benign.

Ike Rose See on the stem

bows

its

head

Stooping to open unto earth.

The Gardener So on the cross the Saviour dead

Opened

man

a second birth.

The Rose

Oh what

a lovely yellow bloom,

Crown

of the richest golden hue from the Garden's open Tomb, Light Give me a golden flower too !

The Gardener

Know It

spirit of

ye the

not Mine to

your kind

make

;

Colour and form are of the mind

Ponder the

;

how they blow

lilies,

The Rose

Now

I feel

bud

Springing from out

of life

slender

trail.

The Gardener Soon you will bear the fruit of strife That draws to earth the Holy Grail.

The Rose Grant

the fulness of

Thy

open heart, that ever

Wisdom and

strength

Thy

grace,

knows love to trace,

Blossoming forth a full-blown

rose.

The Gardener Ponder the

lilies

Pomp and

pride,

Wisdom and honour, wealth and

dress,

Solomon's glory never vied

With

all

the splendour they possess

The Rose Give

To be

just

the

wisdom, peace of mind, of my Tower.

Watchman

THE LOWER GARDEN

l6j

The Gardener There If

no wisdom more to find

you but know

golden flower

this

The Rose

While the pure form I contemplate, And note the humble drooping pose,

stirring quickens

The bud becomes

estate

;

a full-blown rose.

The Gardener

Thou must

And

let fall thy petals too, thou shalt be both pure and great

Thy

ruddy splendour, royal hue,

Betokens Life Illuminate

The Rose

O Thou Thy

whom

all

hearts are pure,

prescience telleth

desire

The Gardener

The

lily tells

And pray

you

endure

the Spirit to inspire.

The Rose This have

But

this

done, Lord, from the

is finite,

first,

where we dwell,

For Living Water, Lord, I thirst ; art the Water and the Well

Thou

;

THE LOWER GARDEN 'The

There

Leave

all,

beyond the grave ; unite with Me, and rise life

Upwards, and

The

lily

Gardener

One who gave make men wise

bless the

power

H. March 1916.

GRAHAM.

LXXII

Christmas Prayer FROM THE TRENCHES

NOT

yet for us

may Christmas bring Good-will to men, and peace ;

In our dark sky no angels sing, Not yet the great release

For men, when war

shall cease.

So must the guns our carols make,

Our

must

gifts

bullets be,

For us no Christmas

bells shall

These ruined homes

The Babe lo,

;

shall see

Christmas revelry.

In hardened hearts

But

wake

fain

would greet

at Christmas born,

He comes

Wearing

with pierced

crown of thorn,

His side a spear has torn. 169

feet,

A CHRISTMAS PRAYER

170

For

tired eyes are all too

Our Our

ears too deaf to hear the

Which

Jesus, pitiful,

born again."

draw

near,

That even we may

The

hymn

angels sing in vain,

" The Christ

dim,

hearts too full of pain,

see

who knew not fear Thus would we picture Thee Little Child

;

Unmarred by agony. O'er death and pain triumphant yet

Bid Thou Thy harpers play, That we may hear them, and forget Sorrow and all dismay,

And welcome Thee

to stay

With us on Christmas Day. CYRIL WINTERBOTHAM.

LXXIII

Holy Communion

Service^ Suvla

a table spread

Bay

BEHOLD A battered corned-beef box, a length of twine, An .

altar-rail of twigs .

and shreds

of string.

For the unseen, divine,

Uncomprehended Thing hallowed space amid the holy dead.

Behold a table spread And on a fair, white cloth the bread and wine, The symbols of sublime compassioning, !

The very outward

sign

Of that the nations

The body

that

sing,

gave, the blood

Behold a table spread

And

shed.

kneeling soldiers in God's battle-line,

line of

homage

to a mightier

All-knowing All-benign

King

Hearing the prayers they bring, Grant to them strength to follow where

led.

W. H. LlTTLEJOHN. 14

171

School

and

173

College

LXXIV

The Field of Honour and rain-sodden, a sport

for flies

MUD-STAINED and lice, Out

of this vilest life into vile death he goes

;

His grave will soon be ready, where the grey rat knows There is fresh meat slain for her ; our mortal bodies rise, In those foul scampering

bellies,

quick

and

yet, those

eyes

That

stare

life still

Seeing in a flash the

out of death, and will not close,

Crown

of Honour, and the

Of Glory wreathed about the Cross

Died radiant. Leaving

Rose

of Sacrifice,

May some

his city cares

English traveller to-day behind him, journeying west

the brief solace of a sporting holiday,

Quicken again with boyish ardour, as he sees, For a moment, Windsor Castle towering on the crest

And Eton

still

enshrined

among remembering

trees.

CHARLES SCOTT-MONCRIEFF.

LXXV

Harrow "

AWEARY

Honour

Let us now praise famous

men"

time, a dreary time, a time of hopes

and

fears,

The weeks

that pass, the months that pass and lengthen

into years.

My heart goes back to Harrow, to Harrow far away, And Harrow sends a message to cheer me on my way. " For good come, bad come, they came the same before, So heigh ho, follow the game, and show the way to more."

Mourn not

for those

whose names are writ

in gold,

for England, gladly gave their Harrow's honour spotless as of old, Kept Nor feared to answer to the last great call.

They fought

They showed the way all

to more, their

succeeding years of

Through Whatever changes

names

all.

will ring

Harrow's fame,

after years may bring Their sons will follow up and play the game.*

176

HARROW'S HONOUR

Mother Herga,

For

You And

The

all

17?

our thanks we give

your care of us, your watchful eye : made us men, you taught us how to live,

all

your wisdom taught us how to

strongest bond of

all,

die.

the bond of friends

our youth, a bond that naught can break, Binds us to you until our journey ends,

Made

We live,

fight,

die for Harrow's sake. J.

FRIEDBERG IN HESSEN, June 20th, 1916.

M. ROSE-TROUP.

LXXVI

Letter

Trenches

the

from

School Friend

HAVE I

not brought

With me here

But

Odyssey

across the sea

;

remember, when I say when How, they went down Sparta way, you'll

To sandy

Sparta, long ere dawn Horses were harnessed, rations drawn,

Equipment polished sparkling

And

bright,

breakfasts swallowed (as the white

Of eastern heavens turned to gold) The dogs barked, swift farewells were

The sun

Crackles the whip thrice

From sun-go-up All

then away

sun-go-down day across the sandy down

The

gallant horses galloped,

The wind

across the

darkened, that

till

downs more

Blew, the sun sank and

Was

told.

springs up, the horses neigh,

all

chill

the road

only showed

I7 8

A LETTER FROM THE TRENCHE3 Right at the end the town's red light

And The

twilight glimmering into night.

horses never slackened

till

They reached the doorway and stood still. Then came the knock, the unlading then ;

The honey-sweet converse of men, The splendid bath, the change of dress, Then

oh the grandeur of their Mess,

The henchmen, the prim stewardess

And oh The

the breaking of old ground,

tales, after

the port went round

(The wondrous wiles of old Odysseus, Old Agamemnon and his misuse

his

command, and that young

who

Paris

For Helen

did

chit

didn't care a bit

only to annoy her really, *.r.X.)

But soon they led amidst the din The honey-sweet dotSo<? in,

Whose

eyes were blind, whose soul had sight,

Who knew

the fame of

men

in fight

Bard

of white hair

Who

sang whatever God might put

and trembling

foot,

Into his heart.

And

there he sung,

Those war-worn veterans among, Tales of great war and strong hearts wrung, Of clash of arms, of council's brawl,

Of beauty that must

early

fall,

A LETTER FROM THE TRENCHES

l8o

Of battle hate and battle joy

the

old,

of Troy.

that they were unreal then,

felt

They

windy walls

Visions and shadow-forms, not men. But those the Bard did sing and say

(Some were

their comrades,

some were they)

Took shape and loomed and strengthened more Greatly than they had guessed of yore.

And now

the fight begins again, old war-joy, the old war-pain.

The

Sons of one school across the sea

We have

And

no fear to fight

soon, oh soon, I do not doubt

it,

With the body or without it, We shall all come tumbling down

To our

old wrinkled red-capped town.

Perhaps the road up

The

Ilsley

way,

old ridge-track, will be

way.

High up among the sheep and sky, Look down on Wantage, passing by,

And And

see the

then

smoke from Swindon town

full left

at Liddington,

Where the four winds of heaven meet The earth-blest traveller to greet.

And

then

face

a singing on

toward the south,

my mouth

There

Away

to rightward I descry

Barbury ensconced

in sky,

;

A LETTER FROM THE TRENCHES

l8l

Far underneath the Ogbourne twins, And at my feet the thyme and whins,

The Of

grasses with their little crowns

gold, the lovely

And

Aldbourne downs,

that old signpost (well

knew

That crazy signpost, arms askew, Old mother of the four grass ways).

And

then

my mouth

For, past the

dumb with

wood and

praise,

chalkpit tiny,

glimpse of Marlborough eparetvij So I descend beneath the rail

To warmth and welcome and

wassail.

This from the battered trenches

rough,

Jingling and tedious enough.

And

so I sign myself to

you

some crooked pathways knew

who Round Bedwyn who could scarcely The Downs on a December eve One,

leave

Was And

at his happiest in shorts,

got

Small

But

not

skill of

many good rhyming

you'll forgive

reports

in his

hand

you'll understand.

CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY.

(OMNIBUS WICCAMICIS)

CTHE

green and grey and purple day is barred with clouds of

dun,

From Tpres

city smouldering before the setting sun Another hour will see it flower, lamentable sight,

A bush Who's

;

burning roses underneath the night.

to fight for Flanders,

who

will set

them

free,

The war-worn lowlands by the English sea ? Who, my young companions, will choose a way

to war,

That Marlborough, Wellington, have trodden out before

Are these mere names ? Then hear a solemn sound The blood of our brothers is crying from the ground " What we dared and died for, what the rest may do, :

Little sons of

Wykeham,

is it

naught to you

" Father and Founder, our feet may never more Tread the stones of Flint-Court or Gunner's green

shore,

But wherever they assemble, we are pressing near, could our brothers hear " Calling and calling :

182

DOMUM What was Here

you fought for, whose profit that you died Ypres burning and twenty towns beside,

Where

183

the gain in

all

our pain when he

we loved but

now Is lying still

Than Were

on Sixty

Hill, a bullet

died one thing regarding that

the golden right

cities of all

through his brow

better worth

the kings on earth.

and wrong to choose among, he had seen the

right,

Had found the thing appointed and done it with his might." 'Thus I muse, regarding, with a pensive eye,

Towered Ypres blazing, beneath the night sky . This way may lie failure, but Towers there are .

Hence,

may

be, guarded, in our

own

that stand,

green land.

CHARLES SCOTT-MONCRIEFF. ST. ELOI,

June 1915.

LXXVIII

THE

deathless mother, grey and battle-scarred,

Lies in the sanctuary of stately trees, the deep Northern night is saffron starred

Where Above her head, and

thro' the

dusk she sees

God's shadowy fortress keep unsleeping guard.

From her full breast we drank of joy and mirth And gave to her a boy's unreasoned heart, Wherein Time's fulness was to bring to birth Such passionate allegiance that to part

Seemed

Now

like the passing of all light

on the threshold of a man's

With a new depth I

earth.

estate,

of love akin to pain

ask thy blessing, while

dedicate

and sword, with promise to maintain My Thine ancient honour yet inviolate. life

Last night dream-hearted in the Abbey's spell We stood to sing old Simeon's passing hymn,

When

sudden splendour of the sunset fell Full on my eyes, and passed and left all dim

At once a summons and a deep 184

farewell.

AVE. I

content

MATER our

ATQUE VALE

life is

From the great hand The immortal Treasure Against His claim,

Among

185

but a trust

of God,

and

keep

clean of mortal rust

'tis

well and let

sleep

the not dishonourable dust.

W. N. HODGSON.

LXXIX Historic Oxford

Time hath loaded thee with memories

Processional.

Of war's

lost travail,

What

could these piles unfold

and the wearied

cries

Of vexed warriors, struggling to hold Their hearth secure against proud

Norman arms

And

yet the while thy quest was not forgot 'Mid war and waste and perilous alarms

;

Ever thy purpose stood, and yielded not. Noble in faith, gallant in chivalry,

Thou

flung'st a radiant

word

to all the land,

Pluck'd from the wealth of thy philosophy, to the world upon the breezes strewn ;

And

When, great with loyalty, thou didst withstand The kingly perjurer in battle brave :

While England's Lady by the Winter's boon Fled from thy peril o'er the frozen wave.

What need

to tell of all thy generous sons

The

priestly Theobald, and in his train Master Vacarius, mighty in old law,

And

the great multitudes that

But shadows

flitting in

now remain

dim pageantry 186

HISTORIC OXFORD In

Across the low-lit stage.

life

they saw

Service of toil and striving for thy gain

The Muse's pensioners They

death they

lie.

cherish'd thee through bitter strife

Faithful.

They fought the

and

strain,

zealous heretic,

Rapt Wyclif, zealously to guard their Truth. Nor worthy less were they who serv'd the sick .

'Mid hopeless plague, and rifled Nature's store To bless mankind nor who for creed or king :

Chang'd learning's mantle for the arms Their lives and treasuries surrendering.

of war,

Martyrs and saints have dower'd thee one in Truth, Old Faith, new Hope, have died to save or mar :

The

idols of flown ages

Shines glad alike upon

That

;

for Truth's sun

all

enterprise

in the Father's eyes

Flatters the fledgling soul

till

the pure heights be won.

These golden memories sit round thy throne They are all thine and thou art all my own. ;

STERLING.

LXXX

May

Oxford Retrospect: (To R.

MAY May

Dear

and

My The

and

spirit

lilac

L.)

am no more among your

Mother-city of heart hath

new

spires,

soul.

desires,

seeks another goal.

purples in the

The avenues

1915

of elms I

meadows

green,

walked between

Cast over Christ Church walk their welcome shade.

Now

in the College

tall

garden tulips

Nod to the gnarled wistaria on the wall, And bright laburnum clusters gild the

glade.

Now

livid

And

golden king-cups and pale cuckoo-weed,

snakesheads bloom in

Iffley

mead,

That children gather against market-day. O'er the cloud-dappled

Chases the sunlight

Cumnor

hills

the shade

there I oft have strayed

And watched dun milch-cows munch the hours away. The

river flows as ever 'neath the trees,

But

no longer take thereon 188

ease

AN OXFORD RETROSPECT: MAY 1915

Where

a pink hawthorn overhangs the stream.

lazy, languid idlings

on the Cher,

Sweet lotus-eatings, while my soul ranged far, In empty musing, through a vain day-dream.

days of yester-year, whose hours flew by, tent wherein I lie,

As winds blow past the Heedless

And

yet

you go nor knew your span. would not have you back again,

I let

Even amid the misery and pain That now is making of the boy

man.

Next May And if I lie in some cold grave Dear Mother-city of my soul, !

am If

content to yield the life you gave but I nobly reach the goal.

DYNELEY HUSSEY.

189

LXXXI

Dream

New

College dream

IN Whom Or

Comrade

saw the men

College

whom

once

knew,

by-gone year the Teuton slew, Turk or Bulgar those who sacrificed in the

Their lives and

And

all for

they were met as

Before the

first

which their in the

lives

they prized time happier

act of imperial crime,

Within a College garden in the shade Of what was once a rampart undecayed.

They saw me not and all were silent each Seemed lost in pondering too deep for speech, As if, though undisdainful, they had nought :

;

To utter for the modes of human thought, And yetjperchance they thought as one would

fain

Imagine that they thought, returned again

To find the sacredness of quiet hours And beauty, time-unravaged, near these Into the

still

quadrangle, as one

towers.

fain

To bear a cherished poem in the brain, And music and great phrases that are dear. Or one might pause though 'twere not wis 190

to hear

NEW COLLEGE

A DREAM OF

The

old clock's tireless ticking (I have

known

Into a terror grow that monotone Incessant, threatening, like the unchanging tune,

Learnt long ago, an idiot will croon, Or, to a murderer, dazed, the judge's slow

Announcing of his near and ultimate woe) The soul would wake to sadness and the moan :

(As of a wind

when woods

are overthrown)

Of our great lamentation and the mind Remember those who nevermore may find ;

This quietude, or, borne upon the blast Of death, the frontiers of the world have passed.

So the unopened door, the empty chair, The half-filled ledger, and the table bare

Of books and paper, sad and strange would seem

To one thus hearkening in the sunlight's gleam, As to the priests of Rome both strange and sad Would seem the unsought temple, when the glad Tidings of joy found welcome and men turned To those whom beasts had torn or flames had burned. In truth, they seem contented to have died In combat against Power deified,

Glad that the

men

of future days

might see

Inviolate this beauty's sanctity.

this College

An emblem

with the gardens old

of all beauty they did hold,

Created or to be,

but the soul

Of England shall escape a cursed control. But at the waking hour I knew that all

Was

but the mind's creation at the

call

A DREAM OF NEW COLLEGE

192

Of pent-up longings yet I saw for long That vision sweet as hymn of evensong. :

knew they sought not

We And

that, their

duty done,

should have sorrow beyond guerison,

an anguish of regret To have imagined only that they met. yet

I felt

ALEXANDER ROBERTSON.

Chivalry of Sport

193

LXXXII

The Soldier

Game

endurance, submission to discipline, good temper, calmness, quickness of observation, self-control, are all qualities as essential in a good polo player as in a good soldier. Badminton Library Pluck,

judgment, Polo.

game we play

a song of the

HERE'S Out

on the burnt maidan, to Mandalay, from Poona Right " " to far Mooltan. Trichy Sahib and Jemadar here

may meet

Victory's laurels rest

with the daring, bold, and Sons of the East or West.

Still

Rules of precedence too Etiquette's

self is blind

fleet

doff,

;

Subalterns ride their Colonel

off,

Nor does the Colonel mind. Here's a verse for the steeds

Never a swerve or

ride,

flinch,

Hunter's strength with a racehorse Fourteen hands and an inch. 195

stride,

THE SOLDIER'S GAME

196

Arab, and Waler, and country-bred, Chestnut, and brown, and bay, Sloping shoulder and lean

game

head,

Built to gallop and stay.

" one " who'll never shirk,

Here's to the

Doing the thing he's told. " three " who knows Here's to the Resolute, safe,

Here's to the

work

" back's " unerring aim

Never a moment Here's to the

his

and bold.

late.

man who

wins the game

Galloping hard and straight.

Blinding and dense the dust-clouds Little the

roll,

horsemen mind,

Racing hard for the distant goal, Thunder of hoofs behind ;

to the ball

Galloping

when the pace

all

quick,

the way,

Stirrup to stirrup and stick to stick

God, what a game to play

This

the law that mayn't be broke, is

Never a

our chiefest pride

;

single selfish stroke,

Every man

for the side.

THE SOLDIER'S GAME This

the toast

197

love to drink,

Every night the same, all and the glasses clink, " Here's to the " Soldier's Game

Bumpers

GEORGE V. ROBINS.

LXXXIII

Racing Rhymes you

HAVE As you

felt

the joy that

face the ditch

almost fear

and are two lengths clear,

And you

hear the thunder of hoofs in rear

There

just a second

Clear out

when you may what the consequence will be

you go too close or take off too far Comes a rending crash and a sickening A futile arm that you raise to defend,

see

jar,

And

the battering hoofs that bring the end.

You

are stride for stride, and

And

the

you set your lip As you urge with your heel and raise your whip,

moment he

feels

the whipcord sting

leaps from the track with a glorious spring.

You And

hear the crash as the stout birch sunders, gain a length as your rival blunders.

COLWYN

198

PHILLIPS.

LXXXIV

The River Bathe the messenger sunbeam over your bed Silently creeps in the morn ;

WHEN And

the dew-drops glitter on flower and Like the tears of hope new-born ;

When the clouds race by in the painted And the wind has a merry tune Ah then for the joy of an early dip

tree,

sky

In the glorious pools of

up from your bed

Lune

Let the sluggards

In an airy palace of dreams, Respond to the joyous lapwing's

And

call

the song of the burbling streams

Oh, balmy the

Are the

air,

lie

and wondrous

fair

with sunlight crowned, the voices of nature seem hills

And all To mingle Then hurry Are the

one glad sound.

along, for as light as the heart

feet

on a morning

June,

the banks that are speckled with sunshine and shade,

'Neath the guardian trees of Lune, 199

THE RIVER BATHE

2OO

Where the

eddies play with the rocks

all

day

In a whirl of fretful fun,

And

the wavelet kisses the pebbly shore With a mirrored smile from the sun.

A good Of

brave plunge in the crystal cool grand primeval tub

this

Then glowing you stand on the warm dry rocks By the edge of the foaming Dub.

Then homeward

along, like the soul of a song

That has every note

And

dear will the

tune

;

memory always be

Of the glorious pools

Lune.

STERLING.

LXXXV To a Black Greyhound black in the shining light,

SHINING Inky black

in the

golden sun,

Graceful as the swallow's

Light as swallow,

flight,

winged one,

Swift as driven hurricane

Double-sinewed stretch and spring, Muffled thud of flying feet, See the black dog galloping,

Hear

his wild foot-beat.

See him

lie

when the day

dead,

Black curves curled on the boarded Sleepy eyes, my sleepy-head Eyes that were aflame before.

Gentle now, they burn no more ; Gentle now and softly warm,

With the fire that made them bright Hidden as when after storm Softly falls the night. 2OI

floor.

202

TO A BLACK GREYHOUND

God of speed, who makes the fire God of Peace, who lulls the same God who gives the fierce desire, Lust for blood as

God who

fierce as

stands in Pity's

flame

name-

Many may ye be or less, Ye who rule the earth and sun Gods

of strength

and gentleness,

are ever one.

JULIAN GRENFELL.

LXXXVI

Hymn

GOD

gave the horse for man to ride, And steel wherewith to fight,

And wine to swell And women for But a better

gift

his soul

delight

The horse

is filled

His heart

with pride

than these

Was when He made

The

Wild Boar

the

with

four

spirit rare,

bold and free

all

the fighting boar.

;

bright steel flashes in the air,

And

glitters hungrily.

But these were

little

use before

The Lord He made the

fighting boar.

The ruby wine doth banish care, But it confounds the head ;

The

fickle fair is light as air,

And makes

the heart bleed red

;

But wine nor love can tempt us more

When we may hunt 16

the fighting boar.

203

204

When

Noah's big monsoon was

The land began

And

hog-spear was the hands of Tubal Cain ;

then the

By The

sons of

Came

laid,

to ride again,

first

made

Shem and many more

out to ride the fighting boar.

Those ancient Jew boys went

like stinks,

They knew not reck nor fear, Old Noah knocked the first two jinks,

And Nimrod got the spear. And ever since those times of yore True men do ride the fighting boar. JULIAN GRENFELL.

LXXXVII

Ivinghoe Hill where three counties join hands

in alliance,

HERE, Terrace on terrace and glade upon glade,

Ashridge looms up like a keep of the giants, Buttressed with beech woods from Aldbury to Gade.

Northwards the vale stretches smiling and spacious, Spurs of the Chilterns the far distance

fill

;

Never held dreamland a prospect more gracious Sunlight and shadow on Ivinghoe hill.

Here, uneffaced by two thousand years' weather, Scarred on the chalk down and stamped in the clay, Linking the Eastland and Westland together,

Runs the long Here,

in the

line of the great Icknield

days of the

Way.

of history,

dawning Marched the Iceni to plunder and kill ; Over it all hangs the glamour of mystery Shades of the past under Ivinghoe

hill.

Vender's the knoll where the beacon was lighted, Northward and eastward the red message runs

Channel are sighted Arm, for your country hath need of her sons

Philip's tall

ships in the

;

205

" !

IVINGHOE HILL

2O6

Straightway they rose and flung back the Armada. Lives the same spirit within our hearts still ?

Can England muster such champions

to guard her

Mists of the future round Ivinghoe

Hush

hill.

A brown form

through the gorse stems Off to the vale with a wave of his brush !

stealing,

Heedless of aught that the future's concealing, Back to the present we come with a rush.

One

ringing shout to the horsemen

Waking

Now

the woods

till

the horn answers

who

follow,

they echo and

thrill

Hark

hark holloa

holloa

;

Huntsman and hound upon Ivinghoe hill. GEORGE V. ROBINS.

LXXXVIII

Cricket

Catch

the

fierce, it

came

WHIZZING, Down the summer Burning

air,

like a flame

On my fingers bare, And it brought to me As

swift

memory.

Happy days Clear

long dead

saw once more.

Childhood that

fled

Rossall on the shore,

Where the

sea sobs wild

Like a homesick child.

Oh, the blue bird's fled Never man can follow. !

Yet at times instead

Comes

this scarlet swallow,

Bearing on

(Where

its

wings skims and dips,

Gleaming through the slips) Sweet Time-strangled things. F. 207

W. HARVEY.

LXXXIX

(WRITTEN ON RECEIVING THE FOOTBALL MATCH LIST FROM ILKLEY GRAMMAR SCHOOL)

came by

YOUTo my

strange

At a time when the

And

mail

last night's little

mud-built house,

blues were on

trail

but grouse. For the world seemed a-swim with ooze, I'd little to do

With everything going wrong, And though I knew that we couldn't Yet the end

it all

The sandbag bed

And

hard,

exceedingly cold the rain,

But you sang

to me, little green card,

And gave me For

felt

courage again

at sight of the old green

And

lose,

seemed long.

;

back

the dear familiar crest,

was off and away on memory's track, Where Rumbold's Moor stands bleak and black

And

the plaintive curlews nest. 208

RUGBY FOOTBALL Then, thin and

Now

clear, I

seemed to hear

low and sweet, now high and strong

note of cheer to banish fear

The

209

little

;

card sang thus his song.

THE SONG There's a broad green

field in

a broad green vale,

There's a bounding ball and a straining pack

;

There's a clean cold wind blowing half a gale, There's a strong defence and a swift attack.

" touch " like an angry As the struggle wavers from goal to goal ; But the fight is clean as a fight should be,

There's a roar from the

And

they're friends

Clean and keen

And

when the

sea,

ball has ceased to roll.

the grand old rule,

heart and courage

must never

fail.

are making men where the grey stone school Looks out on the broad green vale.

They

Can you hear the

Now, School There's

many

call

Can you hear the

Now, School

a knock and

many

Play up

a fall

For those who follow a Rugger ball But hark can you hear it ? Over

;

all

Now, School She makes her

Now, School

men and

Play up

she sends them forth,

proud old mother of many sons The Ilkley breed has proved its worth

Wherever the bond

Empire runs

;

call

RUGBY FOOTBALL

2IO

But near or

far the

summons

clear

Has sought them out from town and They've met the foeman with a cheer,

And

face to face

are fighting

heath,

have smiled on death.

to the grand old rule, They That heart and courage must never fail If they fall, there are more where the grey stone still

Looks out on the broad green vale. Can you hear the call ? Can you hear the

That drowns the roar of Krupp ? There are many who fight and many who

Where the But hark !

school

call

fall

big guns play at the Kaiser's ball,

can you hear

Now, School

Over

Now, School

all

Play up

So when old age has won the fight That godlike youth can never win,

The mind turns from the coming To boyish visions flooding in

night,

;

And by

the hearth the old

Of school and

all it

man dreams

meant

Till in the firelight's kindly

The wise But

old eyes

to him,

beams

grow very dim.

he's lived his life to the grand old rule

That heart and courage must never fail ; So he lifts his glass to the grey stone school That looks on the broad green vale.

Can you hear the Here's a toast,

call

now

Can you hear the

Fill the

cup

call

RUGBY FOOTBALL Though the shadow

of fate

211

on the wall,

Here's a final toast ere the darkness

fall

" The days of our boyhood

all

Now, School

best of

Now, School

" !

Play up

ERIC WILKINSON.

The Ghostly Company

213

The Home-coming this blast

WHENAnd And Is

over-blown,

the beacon

fires shall

burn

in the street

the sound of feet

also shall return.

They

When the bells shall rock and ring, When the flags shall flutter free, And the choirs shall sing, "

They

God save our King " shall be there to see.

When the brazen bands shall play, And the silver trumpets blow, And the soldiers come To They

the tuck of

drum

shall be there also.

When that which was lost is found When each shall have claimed his

;

Fear not they shall miss Mother's clasp, maiden's

For no strange

soil

kin,

kiss

might hold them in.

215

THE HOME-COMING

2I 6*

When Te Deums seek the skies, When the Organ shakes the Dome,

dead

At each For

man

shall stand

live

man's band

they also have

come home.

JOSEPH LEE.

XCI

The

Army

you

WHEN

of Death

see millions of the mouthless

dead

Across your dreams in pale battalions go,

Say not soft things as other

That

you'll remember.

Give them not praise. It

Nor

men have

said,

For you need not For, deaf,

so.

how should they know

not curses heaped on each gashed head tears.

Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.

Nor honour. Say only " Yet

" this,

many

easy to be dead.

They

are dead."

Then add

thereto,

a better one has died before."

Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should you Perceive one face that you loved heretofore, It

a spook.

None wears the face you knew. made all his for evermore.

Great death has

CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY.

217

XCII

Cha

Till

Maccruimein

DEPARTURE OF THE 4TH CAMERONS

pipes in the streets were playing bravely,

The marching

lads

went by,

With merry hearts and voices singing My friends marched out to die ;

But

Out "

was hearing of

a lonely pibroch

an older war,

MacCrimmon, MacCrimmon comes no more."

Farewell, farewell, farewell,

And

every lad in his heart was dreaming Of honour and wealth to come,

And honour and noble pride were calling To the tune of the pipes and drum But I was hearing a woman singing ;

On dark Dunvegan shore, "In battle or peace, with wealth

or honour,

MacCrimmon comes no more."

And

men were marching, made no mark,

there in front of the

With

feet that

The grey

old ghosts of the ancient fighters

Come back

again from the dark 218

;

CHA TILL MACCRUIMEIN

And

in front of

A weary "

them

all

MacCrimmon

piping

tune and sore,

the gathering day, for ever and ever,

MacCrimmon comes no more." E. A. MACKINTOSH.

xcm Ghosts (FLANDERS 1915) rosy woodlands

all

BY With By By By

aglow

autumn, slow-consuming fire, dintling brooks that broaden now, hill and hollow and mead and mire,

farms mid all their yellow ricks From ivied chimney smoking blue, And by the lofty kiln where bricks

Stand piled in cubes so red and new, By queer thatched hamlets all askew,

And by

the

little

Around the grey

unbusy town spire that

pass again, but

all

we knew,

unknown.

Again we guide the jolting plough Or bake the brittle, tinting clay ;

But none Urge

will

mark our labour now,

we may. WlLLOUGHBY WEAVING.

will, toil as

XCIV

Easter Even steals

in stillness o'er the heath,

EVENING Across the blue-green sky and fire-tinged clouds, And

silent birds

wing homewards

misty shrouds

;

Rise to the hilltops from the vales beneath

;

And

far away against the eastern sky Stand silhouetted pine-trees on a hill, Sharp, rugged shapes, so very black and

still,

Like memories dear of childhood stored by.

awful silence, like a deep-tongued bell

Reverberent about Its holy I

as I stand,

mantle sheds upon the land

dare not move,

Then many

lest I

;

should break the

friendly voices spake with

Voices no longer framed by lips of

spell.

me,

flesh,

Voices whose noted tones rang strangely fresh, Transfigured, instinct with

new harmony 221

EASTER EVEN

222

did weep to think that these had died, That I should hold no more their clasping hands,

And

Which now

are blent with dust of foreign lands

" But mourn not us " Rejoicing

Ready If

We "

;

we went

are content," they cried

forth,

and loud

;

in song,

to suffer all things, or to die

but our hopes were high went forth steadfast to our will and strong.

Fate so willed

And some

;

of us return not, but remain

In close-dug graves o'ergrown with simple flowers, Tended by gentle winds, washed with soft showers, Lulled on earth's bosom to forget our pain.

" But comfort these, and on their foreheads lay Cool hands of consolation, that they sleep,

And

so forget the cause for

which they weep

In happy dreamlessness until the day."

Then

saw many mothers grieving sore, With sad, bowed heads, hot eyes devoid of I

tears

Some young, unblemished, some grown grey with Lone mothers mourning for the sons they bore. But they were bravely desolate

;

to speak

Soft words of comfort, hopeful of relief

Seemed but an

insult to their quiet grief

In face of such a sorrow words are weak.

;

years,

EASTER EVEN " Yet

this,

suffer

223

mothers, take for comforting

and not they

;

the glorious dead

Are now at peace from Hate and Fear," I said " That day they died, they vanquished suffering. " Therefore rejoice with them

They gave the That

evil

for not in vain

virgin glory of their youth,

should not overcome, that truth

Might not be trampled

Then

;

in the air

about

for a tyrant's gain."

ever close

Strange Things unheard, impalpable, unseen,

Dimly perceived, danced statelily between Heaven and earth and a great tumult rose, ;

The rushing horror

of a

thousand wings,

And intermingling voices of sweet praise, Of men rejoicing, that had trod the ways Of

terror,

And

all

and triumphant faced Death's

stings.

those mourners, that were on the earth,

Raised suppliant arms as o'er a sacrifice, brave eyes exultant gave the price Of victory the sons they brought to birth.

And with

Then suddenly the sudden

And

voices cease,

high above shines out the evening

Shedding

And on

its

ray of love

and hope

star,

afar,

the stricken earth descendeth peace.

DYNELEY HUSSEY.

xcv

The Half-hour

THOUGHT I

From

that a

man went home

the trench where the tired

And walked through the streets And I thought that man was And

And

laves

Furlough

of his

last night

men own

lie,

old

town

walked through the gates of that good old town Which circles below the hill, its feet in

That floweth so

the river fair

and

full

still.

Gladly and gladly into my heart Came the old street sounds and sights, And pleasanter far than the Pleiades

Was And

the gleam of the old street lights.

as I

The

came by

old,

And back Of

Musing

solemn

St.

Mary's Tower,

bell struck ten,

echoed the

memory

boyhood days again turned

To the haunt

me of

east about

fellow-men. 224

THE HALF-HOUR

FURLOUGH

225

There were some that walked, and some that talked,

Beneath the old Arcade,

And for comfort I elbowed among the And hearkened to what they said. Some were

throng

some that walked

that talked, and

By one, by two, by three And some there were who spake my name ;

As though they lovd me.

And some who said, " Might he but return When this weary war is spent " And it moved me much that their thought was And I turned me well content. !

me along each familiar way, And paused at each friendly door, And thought of the things that had chanced I

such,

passed

within

In the kindly days of yore.

Till I

came

to the place of

Where she

And

long, long love,

lay with her head on her

arm

;

she sighed a prayer that the dear Lord should

Shield

body from

all

harm.

Ae kiss I left on her snow-white brow, And ane on her raven hair, And ane, the last, on her ruby lips, Syne forth again

I fare.

THE HALF-HOUR'S FURLOUGH

226

And I came to the home that will ay be home, And brightly the fires did burn, And at hearth, and in hearts, was a place for me 'Gaiifst the

Then

came

day that

should return.

to the glade where

mother was

'Neath the cypress and the yew : " she stood abune, and she said,

And I

And

am I

laid,

son,

glad that your heart was true."

passed

over both

hill

and down,

each well-remembered path,

While the blessed dawn,

like the love o'

God,

Stole over the sleeping Strath.

And from

a thorn

Like the It slid

came the pipe

first faint

of a thrush,

pipes of Peace

with healing into my heart, sorrowing found surcease.

And my Then

And

awoke to the sound in

ears

of guns,

was the cry

" The Second Relief will stand to arms

And

rose

for that

man was

" !

JOSEPH LEE.

XCVI

The Sleep of Death

WE Now we

see

no terror

They say that

your eyes.

sleeping

you were found

with bayonets guard you round.

Night's shadow

But you

still

up the

hillside creeps,

watch the lighted

skies,

Although the sentinel that sleeps

The next dawn Ah, the remorse

To think " Give

dies.

what

this to her

gone that grew

comrade said

when

heart-shaped thing of

am dead

little

worth

That held her picture for his view, But he was killed and in the earth Before

knew.

It was last night. My watch I kept, The stars just overhead shone dim.

Nought moved upon the hills' far rim. But in the hollows shadows seethed,

And I

as I watched, towards

crept.

deep my comrades breathed Where near they slept.

listened

227

;

THE SLEEP OF DEATH

228

Below men moved innumerable

Fancy

and yet there was a doubt.

And

eyes to shut

I closed

for relief

Across

out,

lids Sleep laid his spell

to sleep

I flung it off I

them

drew deeper breath,

knew too

;

was death,

well.

There came a pleasant breath of air, Cool wafted from the stars it seemed. looked

now they

Then long

all

watched,

brightly gleamed,

alert, clear-eyed.

sleeper stirred behind

Yet then I

some one

there.

side

grew aware.

stared

for

he stood there, though dead,

Yet looking, that seemed nothing strange About his form there was no change

To *

see within that little light.

And

'Tis I.

careless

yet you heard no tread. watch you keep to-night,"

laughing said.

His voice no huskier had grown, Then while I watched, he sat and told

of his love just as of old.

" Give I

this to her," I

looked, and found

Within

heard him say.

was

alone.

hand the locket lay

Cold as a stone.

;

THE SLEEP OF DEATH I

have

Who

here to prove he

says that sleeping

229

lies

was found.

not though you guard me round. Night's shadow up the hillside creeps, I fear

But

can watch the lighted skies, Although the sentinel that sleeps I

The next dawn

dies.

HARLEY MATTHEWS.

Songs

231

XCVII

The Soldier Speaks my heart I

safely keep,

WITHIN England, what things are yours Your

clouds,

That

and cloud-like

drift o'er

windy moors.

Possessing naught,

Great

hills

and

flocks of sheep

proudly hold

little,

gay

Hill-towns set black on sunrise-gold At breaking of the day.

Though unto me you be austere

And

loveless, darling land

;

Though you be cold and hard, And will not understand, Yet have

dear,

fought and bled for you, And, by that self-same sign,

Still

must

England

love you, yearn to you,

how

truly

mine

233

W. HARVEY.

XCVIII

Drum

The Come

me, and

will give

you

flesh

OLD PIBROCHADH

he drum

;

Though graves be hollow, Yet

follow, follow

Come! Says the drum. Life

Shrills the

fife,

Is in strife

Leave love and wife

Come

Says the drum.

Ripe! Screams the pipe, Is the field

Swords and not

Come

Says the drum. 234

sickles wield

THE DRUM

235

The drum Says,

Come

Though graves be hollow, Yet follow, follow :

Come

Says the drum.

JOSEPH LEE.

XCIX

Home-coming r

^HERE He

here,

peace in this house,

come again is

;

close,

He, for whom they were fain There is peace in this house.

There

gladness and joy

For the safe return

this

man, that was boy

Ere the year did turn ; There is gladness and joy.

There

For

sorrow to

his

grim-born pain

He went down Saw There

his is

tell ;

into hell,

comrades

slain

sorrow as well. 236

;

HOME-COMING

Above

all,

there

pride

For the deeds he wrought He would gladly have died, Could his

There

life

pride

;

purchase aught ; There is pride !

DYNELEY HUSSEY.

homesick for

I'M To

hills

again

above the Severn plain, Unscabbarded against the sky, see

The blue high blade The giant clouds go

Cotswold

lie

;

royally

By jagged Malvern with a train Of shadows. Where the land is low Like a huge imprisoning O I hear a heart that's sound and high, hear the heart within me cry " I'm homesick for my hills again I

hills

again

Cotswold or Malvern, sun or rain "

hills

again

238

W. HARVEY.

The Broken Heart FOUND a silver sixpence, A sixpence, a sixpence,

I I

found a silver sixpence, And I brake it in twa ;

gied

A I

it till

a sodger,

sodger, a sodger,

gied

it till

a sodger,

Before he gaed awa'.

have a heart that's broken,

That's broken, that's broken I

;

bear a heart that's broken,

That's broken in twa

For

A I

gied

it till

a sodger,

sodger, a sodger,

gied

it till

a sodger,

Before he gaed awa'

JOSEPH LEE.

239

CII

The Willow-tree Bough

heart's at the

war with a good-natured rifleman

Where he stands firing his foemen to slay While he was home with us, laughter and liveliness

Night time or church time 'twas all holiday. Friends who fall in with a good-natured rifleman Tell him his Helen abides by her vow Just as she swore when her William, last January, Carved his sweet name on the willow-tree bough.

He's got moustaches, a good-natured rifleman, Curled at each end like the fiery young moon, Yes, and he marches so deft and delightfully, All the old streets here

Now

still

echo the tune.

that he's given himself

All over the world his brave

for a soldier,

body to show,

How

can you wonder that I in my anxiousness Weep with my eyes on the willow-tree bough

Here's to their health, the green-jacketed gentlemen, Scouring their enemies over the plain, Fighting like seals in a lickerish estuary

Soon

may

old Winchester see

240

them again

THE WILLOW-TREE BOUGH

24!

Soon may the children, are yet to be born to me, Standing around like young shoots in a row, Hark to the eldest one spelling so easily

Worm-eaten words on the willow-tree bough. CHARLES SCOTT-MONCRIEFF.

cm Low Germany To BE SUNG TO THE TUNE OF "HiGH GERMANY"

NO But

more the English

girls

may

follow with the drum,

they flock together see the soldiers come ;

still

For horse and foot are marching by,

And

the bold artillery

They're going to the cruel wars In

Low Germany.

They're marching down by lane and town And they are hot and dry,

But I

as they marched together heard the soldiers cry :

Oh all of us, both horse and And the proud artillery,

foot,

We're going to the merry wars In

Low Germany." EDWARD SHANKS.

242

Loving and Living

CIV

To Mother make my feeble art Show the burning of my I

CAN

Five- and- twenty

heart

years of schooling

weak and

Since you bore me,

puling,

Every day and every hour I have battened on your power, While you taught of

life

the whole

;

You my Best Beloved and nighest, You who ever claimed the highest

Was

the one and only goal.

Often weary, often

Never

for a

ailing,

moment

failing,

Always cheering, always propping, Often checking, sometimes stopping,

When

the sands of

You were

helping,

Claimed for

life

seemed

sliding

you were guiding the glorious role

You my loved one and no other, You my only lovely Mother, You the pilot of my soul. COLWYN

245

PHILIPPS.

Mother's Birthday T

was good to be alive on mother's Birthday, was good to shake off sleepiness and rise,

was good

And

to throw the legs across

to drink the

my pony morning sunlight with the

eyes.

was good

to take the road on mother's Birthday " Bob " kicked up his heels and ran away, It was good to trot him back into his stable And to play with " Ginger " till he got his hay. It

old

was good to have

And It

bath on mother's Birthday

to swill the water cold

all

down

the back,

was good to shave and wash and put on khaki kneel and ask that mother has no lack.

And

was good

And It

was good

And

up and out on mother's Birthday,

to join the

merry

fellows in the mess.

to toast the bread for early breakfast

enjoy myself a

little

246

none the

less

MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY

247

was good to see the works on mother's Birthday And to have a look how things were going on,

was good

And

to see the carpenters

and sawyers

the engines and the horses pulling strong.

was good

to see the shops

on mother's Birthday,

And the blacksmiths at the anvil and the forge, And the fitters and the masons and the plumbers, Busy tradesmen, trusty

soldiers of

King George.

was good to see the field on mother's Birthday, It was good to feel the sunshine and the breeze,

was good

And

to see the water in the river,

the flowers and the sparrows and the trees.

was good Just the

to think of men on mother's Birthday, men you have to govern and to serve,

And

to say that this must not be done or must be, So that every man may offer every nerve.

was good

to walk the line

on mother's Birthday and back again, along It was good to see the nurses and the doctors And to breathe a silent prayer for dying men. It

To the Hospital

was good All the

to drill the

company

men on

column

mother's Birthday, the field.

was good to see their arms were clean and steady, And to see them marching firmly as they wheeled.

TO MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY

248 It

was good to pay the men on mother's Birthday, And to give them but an earnest of their due,

And

to see

them playing Footer

in the evening, Just to keep their bodies manly, strong, and true.

wa& good

have a

In the evening It

was good

And

rest

on mother's Birthday,

when the daytime's work was done.

to sit

and look across to mother, when it is won.

to contemplate the rest

was good

to go to sleep

on mother's Birthday,

And to let the tired body take its ease, And to dream of dreamy, long-forgotten spring days When a little body lay on mother's knees. Only every man has not a mother's Birthday, No one ever had a mother just like mine !

was good to be alive on mother's Birthday, Son of Mary Mother, gentle and divine.

GRAHAM.*

* When the author told the " Padre" that this piece doggerel, he said it didn't matter if it was.

seemed only

CVI

The Bonny, Bonny Braes

linger'd

when you went,

LONELY Recalling how the days had fled Each with

its

mingled treasure pent

Of shine and shade remembered Oh, how

crush'd the grapes divine,

Blending a flood of wakeful wine.

Next look'd Eager

And Red

on the well-lov'd scene,

ready wealth to glean forg'd therefrom a cup of gold

its

hills,

blue loch, and islands green

(Rare alchemy !). So could it hold That vintage of our joy, and I Drink deep the draught of memory.

Love, be not sad but listen To the laughter of the wave,

Sweeping ever madly after His desire above yon cave 249

THE BONNY, BONNY BRAES

250

See the leaping shingle glisten With the fire his kisses gave

mingle, love, your laughter

With the laughter

of the wave.

STERLING.

CVII

Suv/a Bay

OLD

rose and black and indigo,

Saffron streaks in a spume-tipped grey,

Purple, laved in the dawn's

God, how

fair

you

are,

wan glow

Suvla

Bay

Spitting shrapnel and shrieking steel,

Brave men dead

in their youth's

noonday,

All the anguish their loved ones feel Is

your ambrose,

fair

Suvla

Bay

Stabbing sun from a brazen sky, Choking dust from the corpse-strewn way, Each one treads as he marches by,

God, how

I loathe

you, Suvla

Bay

Tanned men delving with laboured

breath,

Stinking lighters discharging hay,

Grey-hulled battleships belching death,

God, there's work on at Suvla Bay 19

251

StJVLA

252

BAY

moon and the cold north star, You who watch while I kneel and pray,

Pale, pale

Take to her

in the

northland far

One sobbing prayer from Suvla Bay

One sobbing prayer that the dull heart-pain God in heav'n Thou alone canst stay, For her be

Back

stilled till I

to her side

come again

from Suvla Bay

W. H. LITTLEJOHN.

CVIII

/ Love LOVE

I And And I

thee as

Like perfect poetry and angels' wings, cleanliness, and sacred motherhood, all

things simple, sweetly pure, and good.

love thee as

And

love a little child,

want

to cuddle

stroke and play with

And, best

calves and kittens, and all things soft and mild

Things that

And

love the holiest things,

all, I

and to

kiss,

dear, I love like this.

love thee as a friend,

fellow seeker of a

mutual end

COLWYN

253

PHILIPPS.

CIX

To his

Maid

above Time, upon Eternity

SINCE The lovely Time

shall not

Nor

essence of true loving's set,

triumph over you and me,

though we pay his debt

Shall

Death hold mastery.

Your

eyes are bright for ever.

Holds an eternal shade.

Your dark

hair

Like a bright sword

Shall flame the vision of your strange sweet ways,

Cleaving the years

and even your smallest word

Lying forgotten with the things that were, Shall glow and kindle, burning up the days. F.

254

W. HARVEY.

The Barrier

WALL

and gulf

Not

that

all

for ever lie between,

we may do through

love or wit

Can quite avail to pull away the screen, Nor yet succeed in bridging o'er the pit.

He knows

Who

the reason,

that ordered

it,

bade us love but never understand.

He fixed the And bade us

barrier as

He saw

fit,

yearn and still stretch forth the hand the Across very sea He'd said should ne'er be spanned.

But

sure this great and aching love of mine,

That ever yearns to know and to be known, Can tear the veil that sometimes seems so fine

As though 'twere cobweb waiting but the blow To fall asunder and for ever go. E'en as

I rise

to strike,

The cobwebs billow, To a thick wall with

it is

too late,

thicken, seem to

buttress tall

and

grow great.

I stand alone, a stranger at a city gate.

COLWYN

255

PHILIPPS.

CXI

Rainbow

GOD

built a bridge

Across the sky

From

ridge to ridge,

And arched it high And made it bright

;

Against the storm, And wrought with light Its

rounded form.

So leapt your love Across the sky That loured above So hopelessly And at its end

Of trembling

You

light

friend,

sight.

stand,

Beyond

;

DYNELEY HUSSEY.

356

CXI1

Fulfilment there love once

WASWas '

there grief once

I ?

have forgotten Grief

still is

her.

mine.

men

; rough, but men who stir More joy, more grief than love of thee and thine.

Other loves

have

Faces cheerful,

full of

whimsical mirth,

Lined by the wind, burned by the sun

;

Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth, As whose children, brothers we are and one.

And any moment may To

shatter limbs

descend hot death

pulp, tear, and blast

Beloved soldiers who love rude

Not

less for

dying

life

and breath

faithful to the last.

the fading eyes, the grimed face turned bony,

Oped, black, gushing mouth, Failing pressure of a held

fallen head,

hand shrunk and stony,

sudden spasm, release of the dead 25?

FULFILMENT

258

Was there love once ? Was there grief once

I ?

have forgotten her. Grief

still is

mine.

loved, living, dying, heroic soldier, All, all

joy,

grief,

love are thine

ROBERT NICHOLS.

CXIII

The Spirit of ff^omanbood 1.

WHEN Her Return,

Even

laid

upon him

son, or with or

ere he

went

field, :

on thy shield."

so we, with anguish unrevealed

eyes o'er-bright and lips to laughter lent,

Sent forth our

Spartan mother sent

best beloved to the perilous

One charge she "

Sending

as of old the

tears

men

to battle, nor

would yield

pride's fierce barriers hardly pent.

So when they fight and all the world goes red, No memories athwart their souls shall come

That might unman them in the hour of need, But such brave glances veiling hearts that bleed

As those

old mothers turned

upon

their

dead

comrades' shoulders borne triumphant home. 2.

Rebellion

WAS

it for this, dear God, that they were born, These sons of ours, the beautiful and brave, To fall far from us, leaving us forlorn,

Scarce knowing even

they found a grave

259

THE SPIRIT OF WOMANHOOD

260

comforts not that cheerfully they gave Their lives for England ; nay, to us, outworn It

With

but that they could not save Themselves in saving her from shame and scorn. grief, it skills

Cometh no answer from the

pitiless skies

us in darkness for our lost ones weeping

;

Their place is empty, empty as our hearts, Or as our prayers unheeded, nor departs

The

instant anguish

we but hush our

cries

Lest they should trouble our beloved sleeping.

SURELY the

Peace

bitterness of death

past,

Drained to the dregs the waters of despair, Yea, pride on our beloved shall outlast All poor desiring for the things that were.

The men we wedded and the sons we bare Died valiantly and

for the right stood fast

Yet 'twas our blood that made them strong to Our hearts that in the battle-scale were cast.

dare,

Light of our eyes for all the years to be, Fruit of our dreams, our dearest selves fulfilled,

These have we

With blinding

laid as gifts

on Freedom's

altar

all

tears, yet ungrudgingly ; Henceforth our high hearts shall not fail nor Though in them gladness be for ever stilled.

falter,

A. L. JENKINS.

CXIV

Soldier

Any

Wife

going up the street

LISTEN The echo of my soldier's A Is

feet.

sound already growing dim all I now can hold of him.

In this wide world that thinning sound First threat of lengthening miles of groundIs all the

wealth

I still possess,

dwindling store of loveliness

ebbing tide, a fading ghost,

Poor wraith of

all I

The crown&l heart

cherish most. of love's delight

hunted out into the night

golden pinnacle of flame turned to smoke a sigh

name

The song of angels' dancing feet Become an echo in the street. .

dying sound,

You

whisper,

fail

;

scarce-drawn breath, ;

and then comes death.

and no footstep more. Turn, go in, and shut the door.

Darkness

261

ANY SOLDIER'S WIFE

262

up from sleepy earth To dance and soar on wings of mirth,

The

lark springs

Dull clouds are

cleft,

Shoots up, the air

a crystal spire flaked with

As on he sweeps in radiant Wild music scattering from

know you

lark, I

lovely

Unsapped by dual inward

Whose

perfect joy

fire

rings,

his wings.

life

strife,

speeding whole

In conscious rapture to your goal, does not plan with downward eye

Who How

far 'tis safe to sing

and

fly,

Nor heed fear's whisper bidding stoop " What now if hawk or kite should swoop :

is a time for ground and nest, For voiceless joy and folded rest Only when song and flight are spent

There

;

Utterly, will

you drop, content, Your heart and love's heart wholly one Because you did not fear to run Across the

And

take

When I'll

unknown

life's

fields of space,

challenge face to face.

have to give make no bargain that he live

lie

There

give

all I

again upon this breast. is

a time for

ground and

nest.

ANY

SOLDIER'S WIFE

come when he has flamed

He'll

263 in flight

Across these heavy mists of night, And, singing like the skylark, run

greet a newly risen sun.

And

who watch and

bless

him

forth,

Though he go south and I go north, Would take with him the skyward way

And clamber up Pour

Nor

the stairs of day

life in careless

jewelled flow,

pause, nor plan, nor look below.

small brave lark,

brother dear,

Sing to us through the next long year

For

And

life's

;

adventurers are we,

life calls

you, and him, and me.

DOROTHY PLOWMAN.

Moods and Memories

263

cxv

The Listeners

T^HE guns

Far, far

away

in the distance

we hear them.

Oh, for a chance to be there, to be near them, Borne on the wind in the stillness of night

Far-away sounds of the thunderous Guns!

fight.

Nightly ere sleeping our senses we strain, Faintly we hear it the muttered refrain.

Would we were free to be fighting Hark to the guns

again.

Well do we know

all

the horrors of night,

Darkness made day by the calcium light, Nothing but wreckage revealed to the sight.

Hark

to the guns

Yet would we break

inactivity's spell

Just for one night in that shuddering

hell,

Thunder

shell.

guns and the scream of the

Hark 20

to the guns

267

THE LISTENERS

268

The guns we wait for the news !.

Breathless

News

of the fray,

of the guns that are nearer to-day.

Nearer they mutter, they thunder, they Nearer to victory, nearer their goal.

Guns

May

A. D.

1916.

I.AHN,

WKILBURG

roll

M. ROSE-TROUP.

CXVI

Outposts the moonlit shadows creep, the sun beats pitiless down,

WHENWhen

Steadfast, vigilant they keep

Watch and ward about

the town.

Guardians of an Empire's gate, In the sunshine and the dust Still

beside their guns they wait,

Faithful to their weary trust.

Not

for

Not

them the

for

hero's cross,

them the

hero's grave,

Thrill of victory, pain of loss,

Praise of those they. fell to save.

Only days of monotone, Sand and fever, flies and All unheeded and

fret,

unknown,

Little thanks they're like to get.

269

OUTPOSTS

?-7

Yet mayhap

in after-days

Distant eye the clearer sees

Gods apportioning the praise Shall be kindly unto these.

A. L. JENKINS. ADEN, 1916.

CXVII

Tears o'erwhelms the melody of Night,

SILENCE Then slowly drips on For

to the

woods that sigh

their past vivid vernal ecstasy.

The branches and the leaves let in the light In patterns, woven 'gainst the paler sky Create mysterious Gothic tracery,

Between those high dark pillars, that affright Poor weary mortals who are wand'ring by.

Silence drips

on the woods

like sad faint rain,

Making each frail tired sigh, a sob of pain Each drop that falls, a hollow painted tear :

Such as are shed by

Pierrots, when they fear crush their silver lord to death.

Black clouds

may

The world

waxen

Would make

;

and the wind's

a hurricane of sound.

least breath

The earth

Smells of the hoarded sunlight that gave birth

To the gold-glowing radiance Which falls to bury from our

of that leaf,

sight its grief.

OSBERT SlTWELL.

271

CXVIII

The Tryst i

was a peace

THERE Knows

at eve

no other hour

the east, a dusken tapestry of yellow light

Woven with

feathers from the wings of birds in Curtained the presence of an unseen Power.

flight,

stood between deep ranks of pillaring pine In a small glade, and up above a cupola more deep Recessed into the blueness of the sky. All wrapped I

sleep

Save the unresting

And

then

called

vigil of starshine.

on God.

The sky was suddenly

The pinetops

kissed,

disturbed, vague eddies in the air

Scattered night-perfumes, cloud-sheets raced, grass rustled

everywhere,

Nature made preparation

for that

mighty

tryst.

CLUTCHING thine hand, sweet Death, my tranquil And nestling close to thee, I shall have power

rest uninjured

Knowing

by the

transient hour,

end.

272

friend,

THE TRYST I shall

2/3

be held above the eddying tide

Into a sunlit quiet, and thence hide

With but an outstretched palm the wearying crowd, 'Twixt whom and God a gulf unknownly wide Is fixed, to

Blow

drown

their littlenesses loud.

forth, Death's herald,

from thy silver horn

Strains sweeter far than birds a-song at morn.

ALL day he moved The

not, lying

cool fresh odorous grass.

low amid

heard the

trill

Of water leaping somewhere shadow-hid,

And

in unfettered rapture

Of deep

Upon

rose odour,

till

drank his

fill

sleep stole unbid

him, with the music of the

rill.

ii.

He woke

in darkness.

'Twixt him and the skies

Darted the black things of the middle night While all around broke shrill and tragic cries

hope dead, and fancy put

And somewhere, hidden from

to flight.

his

Cold dropping water set his heart

burning eyes, affright.

CXIX

The Warrior Month March, what wonder that

think of war

STRONG When

thou art triumphing across the sky With bannered cloud and trump of victory

and not

Bloodless,

And

The

as our red

triumphs are, thy happy conquest spreading far

Spring's green

welcome ravage, biddest

fly

Those dull oppressors of the land, the sly Old monarch Winter and his consort Care.

happy gain to all, a loss to none But we, how great soe'er our triumphs be !

Ever gain

And

less

than we have

lost alone,

than even our broken enemy

Get from the thought how their brave dead have known

Nought

of their country's dire calamity.

WlLLOUGHBY WEAVING.

274

cxx

Back

WE'RE

in billets again,

I shall

strap myself

Billets and to-night,

in a

Wolsely

you

please,

valise.

boy ? Your boots give you infinite pain You can chuck them away we're in billets again. What's

that,

We're

in billets again

now

and, barring alarms,

There'll be no occasion for standing to arms,

And

you'll find

you'd

many

night-watches to keep

That the hour before daylight's the best hour

for sleep.

We're feasting on chocolate, cake, currant buns, a faint German-band obbligato of guns,

For I've noticed, wherever the regiment

That we always end up pretty

But we're

may

go,

close to the foe.

safe out of reach of trench

mortars and snipers Five inches south-west of the " Esses " in Ypres ; Old Bob, who knows better, pronounces it Yper

But don't argue the point now

Our host

you'll

waken the

sleeper.

brings us beer up, our thirst for to quench.

So we'll drink him good fortune 275

English and French

BACK

2j6

Bob, who finds

IN BILLETS

Parisian accent a blemish,

Goes one better himself

in a torrent of Flemish.

a fortnight on Friday since Christopher died, And John's at Boulogne with a hole in his side, It's

While poor Harry's got lost, the Lord only knows where May the Lord keep them all and ourselves in His care.

Mustn't think

don't

mind when a chap

;

gets laid out,

They've taken the best of us, never a doubt ; But with life pretty busy and death rather near

We've no time

for regret

any more than

for fear.

Here's a health to our host, Isidore Deschildre,

Himself and his wife and their plentiful childer, And the brave aboyeur who bays our return ;

More power

to his

paws when he treads by the churn

You may speak of the Ritz or the Curzon (Mayfair) And maintain that they keep you in luxury there :

you've lain for six weeks on a water-logged plain,

Here's the acme of comfort, in billets again.

CHARLES SCOTT-MONCRIEFF. February 1915.

CXXI

Progress

Progress,

what a sorry claim thou hast

To be accounted worthy of thy name less than a weak candle-flame Availing

' !

Before our steady accusation's blast.

Thy

life is forfeit

thou that never wast

More than a word between the

subtle

That

all

lie

unknown our

The mind triumphant

lips of

reeking shambles

skies

grew overcast

And

making hideous war, all

impossible,

Yet luring on the nations near and

How

shame,

that so like truth became,

far

? Arise, ye dead, and tell our hate we hate no less than ye,

that red end in in

our love love not more tenderly.

WlLLOUGHBY WEAVING.

277

CXXII

The Hills USSOORIE J.

and Chakrata Hill

The Jumna

And from

flows between

Chakrata's

Mussoorie's vale

;

hills afar

seen.

The mountains

sing together In cloud or sunny weather,

The Jumna, through their Foams white, or plunges

tether,

green.

The mountains stand and laugh They pillar up the earth, They watch the ages pass, they

New They

Time

;

bring

centuries to birth.

feel

the daybreak shiver,

They see Time passing ever As flows the Jumna River, As breaks the white

sea-surf.

They drink the sun

And With

in blue

in a golden cup, mist the rain ;

a sudden brightening they meet ere

strikes the plain.

278

the.

lightning

THE HILLS

2/Q

seize the sullen thunder,

They

And take it up for plunder, And cast it down and under, And up and back again.

They are as changeless as the As changeful as the sea

rock,

;

They

rest,

but as a lover rests

After love's ecstasy. They watch, as a true lover

Watches the quick lights hover About the lids that cover His eyes so wearily.

Heaven

upon their breasts Heaven kisses them at dawn lies

at night, ;

clasps and kisses them at even With fire of the sun's death born.

Heaven

They turn

to his desire

Their bosom, flushing higher

With

soft receptive fire,

And

blushing, passion-torn.

Here, in the I

hills of

met thee

ages

face to face

mother Earth, Look down on

;

lover Earth,

with grace.

THE HILLS

2&O

Give

And thy All

thy passion burning, strong patience, turning

wrath to power,

all

yearning

truth, thy dwelling-place.

JULIAN GRENFELL.

CXXIII

On Account go, brave friends,

YOUTo

of III Health

and

cast to stay behind,

read with frowning eyes and discontented mind

The shining history that you To sleep with working brain,

are gone to make, to

dream and

Into another day of most ignoble peace, drowse, to read, to smoke, to pray that war

awake

may

cease.

spring is coming on, and with the spring you go In countries where strange scents on the April breezes blow

The

You'll see the primroses marched

down

into the

;

mud,

You'll see the hawthorn-tree wear crimson flowers of blood,

And

I shall

And

see the

walk about, as I did walk of old, Where the laburnum trails its chains of useless gold, I'll break a branch of may, I'll pick a violet

I'll

love,

I'll

new-born flowers that soldiers must laugh,

I'll

dream and write undying

forget,

songs,

But with your regiment my marching soul belongs. Men that have marched with me and men that I have

know and

led

have only read, Shall know what thing it is to sleep beneath the skies And to expect their death what time the sun shall rise. Shall

Men

feel

the things that

that have marched with

Bringing for plunder

home

me shall march to peace again, glad memories of pain,

281

ON ACCOUNT OF ILL HEALTH

282

toils

And

all

Then

endured and done, of terrors quite brought under, the world shall be their plaything and their wonder.

new-born world, unfriendly and estranged, be quite alone, I shall be left unchanged.

in that

I shall

EDWARD SHANKS.

CXXIV

Last Lines

Hate

And

like this

would freeze our human

stab the morning star

tears,

Not it, not it commands and mourns and The storm and bitter glory of red war.

bears

BROTHER,

Nor

for

S. M., killed in action,

have sung no dirge all time to come

March

for thee

13,

1915

Can song reveal my grief's infinity The menace of thy silence made me dumb. :

283

STERLING.

cxxv

A be

if it

IORD, -^ That I

Thy

Prayer will

enter the great shadowed valley that lies

Silent, just over the

hill,

" There's a comrade that dies " Waving his hand to us still

Grant they

may

say,

Lord,

Let

Into

Then

there

come the end,

find space

Thy hands

me go,

and breath

commend

all

the dearest

prize

with

my boy's laughing eyes Smiling a word to a friend. let

W. H. LITTLEJOHN.

284

CXXVI

God who

The r

^HE old men in the olden days, Who thought and worked in simple ways,

Believed in

God and sought His

They looked

waits

God

praise.

in daily need,

shone in simple, homely deed

They

prayed to

Him

;

to raise their seed.

He sowed on mountain side and weald, He steered the plough across the field, He garnered in their harvest yield. And

gave them barren sod, Or smote them with His lightning rod,

They

yielded

humbly

to their God.

They searched the record

find and mend Which made the wrath

of their days

their evil

285

ways,

God

to blaze.

THE GOD WHO WAITS

286

And

they could find, " They did not say, Our God is blind," " God's will be done," they said, resigned. if

evil

So played the old their humble part, And lived in peace of soul and heart,

Without pretence

But we have

of Reason's art.

lost their simple creed

Of simple aim and simple need, Of simple thought and simple deed. Their creed has crumbled as their dust,

We do

not yield their God as just, question holds the place of trust.

Now

Faith blossomed like the Holy Rod, So grew the old men's faith in God.

We cannot tread We were not

the path they trod.

born to anchored creed

That measures good and

guide to those

The God the

old

evil

deed

who guidance

men

need.

hearkened to

our image drew left, And fashioned out a God anew.

and

That Sits

iron God,

who

throned with

Among

still

unfed,

lips that dribble red

the sacrificial dead.

THE GOD WHO WAIT3

287

Belching their flames between the bars,

Our

fires

sweep out

like scimitars

Across the Eden of the stars.

And souls are sold and souls are bought, And souls in hellish tortures wrought To feed the mighty Juggernaut. The dripping wheels go

And

crush and

roaring by us where we lie

kill

Blaspheming God with our

Man's cry to

We The

man

last cry.

the heaven

fills

;

hear not in our marts and mills silent voices of the hills

The message

of the breathing clay,

Calling us through the night and day

To come away,

come away

For though old creeds, had we the

cannot, lacking faith,

The God above

all

creed waits

For

still

The

fallow fields eternal wait

beyond the

will,

fulfil, still.

city gate,

For us to drive our furrow

straight.

LESLIE COULSON.

CXXVII

Judgment be

it,

SO And For

God,

gladly give

me Thy

choice

Thou dost give,' what Thou dost take'away.

take what

barren days and grey.

ordered days

I live, Unquestioning Thy I do not seek to sjf t in Reason's sieve

Thou

rangest far beyond our Reason's sway.

are but poor, uncomprehending clay, For Thou to mould as Thou dost well conceive.

But when

And

this

blanched days of sorrow end,

poor clay for funeral

drest,

Then shall my soul to Thy Gold Gate ascend, Then shall my soul soar up and summon Thee To tell me why. And as Thou answerest, So shall I judge Thee, God, not Thou judge me. LESLIE COULSON.

288

CXXVIII

The Hospital Ship is

a green-lit hospital ship,

THERE

Green, with a crimson

Lazily swaying there Lazily bearing

Leaving

cross,

in the bay,

friend away,

dull-sensed loss.

Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,

Numb

heart, but

you

carelessly dip

There in the drift of the bay.

There

Dun

a green-lit hospital ship,

as the distance grows,

Speedily steaming out of the bay, Speedily bearing

friend

away

Into the orange-rose. Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,

Dim Out

are

eyes, but

of their sight

you heedlessly from the bay.

There was a green-lit hospital Green, with a blood-red cross, 289

ship,

slip

THE HOSPITAL SHIP

290

Lazily swaying there in the bay,

But

went out with the

Out where the white

light of the

day

seas toss.

Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,

Cold are

hands and trembling

lip

Did you make home from the bay ? W. H. LJTTLEJOHN.

CXXIX

The Rainbow

WATCH I I

dawn gleam,

the white

To the thunder

of hidden guns.

hear the hot shells scream

Through

skies as sweet as a

Where the

And

silver

dream

dawn-break runs.

stabbing of light

Scorches the virginal white.

But

I feel in

And

being the old, high, sanctified

thank the gods that the dawn

From death I

thrill,

beautiful

still.

that hurtles by

crouch in the trench day-long, to a cloudless sky

But up

From

the ground where our dead

brown lark soars

Through the tortured air, Rent by the shrapnel's flare, Over the troubleless dead he carols

And

men

lie

in song.

his

fill,

thank the gods that the birds are beautiful 291

still.

THE RAINBOW

292

Where the parapet

And

level

low

with the eye

Poppies and cornflowers glow And the corn sways to and fro In a pattern against the sky. The gold stalks hide

men who died dawn through the dew

Bodies pf

to be killed or to Charging at the flowers that are beautiful still. I thank the gods

When

kill.

dark we creep In silence to our dead.

night

falls

dig a few feet deep

And

leave

them there

But blood

to sleep

at night

red,

white.

Yea, even at night,

And And And

a dead man's face

hands, that are also trained to

dry

look at the stars

kill,

for the stars are beautiful

still.

LESLIE COULSON. FRANCE, August

8tk,

1916.

cxxx Escape (AUGUST 6, 1916. OFFICER PREVIOUSLY REPORTED DIED OF WOUNDS, NOW REPORTED WOUNDED. GRAVES, CAPT. R.,

IUT

ROYAL WELSH

FUSILIERS)

was dead, an hour or more

woke when

I'd already passed the

That Cerberus guards and half-way down the road

To Lethe, as an old Greek sign-post showed. Above me, on my stretcher swinging by, I saw new stars in the sub-terrene sky,

Cross, a

And

Rose

a barbed

I felt

Bloom, a Cage with Bars,

Arrow feathered with

fine stars.

the vapours of forgetfulness

Float in

nostrils

may Heaven bless who saw me wake

Oh,

Dear Lady Proserpine, And, stooping over me, for Henna's sake Geared my poor buzzing head and sent me back Breathless, with leaping heart along the track.

After

roared and clattered angry hosts

Of demons, " life Life,

heroes, I can't

and policeman-ghosts. be dead, I won't be dead 293

door

ESCAPE

294

Damned

any one," I said . . and Cerberus stands grins above me now, Wearing three heads, lion and lynx and sow. " but a revolver if I'll

die for

Quick,

Stolen ... no

Bellows, hurls stones)

Nothing Stay

...

Webley's gone, (the crowd swarms on,

bombs ... no knife .

. .

not even a honeyed sop . . Good dog . . but stop ! . . .

Good Cerberus

great luminous thought ... I do believe

some morphia that I bought on Then swiftly Cerberus' wide mouths I cram There's

leave."

still

With Army

smeared with Tickler's jam ; And Sleep lurks in the luscious plum and apple. He crunches, swallows, stiffens, seems to grapple

With the

crash

biscuit

all-powerful

poppy

late

then a snore,

the beast blocks up the corridor

;

With monstrous hairy

Too

carcase, red

and dun

for I've sped through.

Life

Sun

ROBERT GRAVES.

CXXXI

GOOD WISHES luck,

good health, good temper, these,

GOOD A very hive

of honey-bees

To make and store up

happiness,

Should wait upon you without cease, If I'd

the power to call them

Into this stuffy

Where the Afflicts

But

Benevolent I'll

each time he breathes.

have no power to spirits

wish you

And

town,

dull air in sticky wreaths

man

since I

little

down

all

down

the good

close the chapter

call

all,

know

up and

go.

EDWARD SHANKS.

295

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