A Treasury of War Poetry Part 18

THE GHOSTS OF THE LUSITANIA WOMEN AND CHILDREN: Oh, kind kin of our murderers, take us back when you sail away; Our own kin have forgotten us. O Captain, do not stay!

But hasten, Captain, hasten: The wreck that lies under the sea Shall be ever the home for us this land can never be.

_William Dean Howells_

EDITH CAVELL

She was binding the wounds of her enemies when they came-- The lint in her hand unrolled.

They battered the door with their rifle-b.u.t.ts, crashed it in: She faced them gentle and bold.

They haled her before the judges where they sat In their places, helmet on head.

With question and menace the judges a.s.sailed her, "Yes, I have broken your law," she said.

"I have tended the hurt and hidden the hunted, have done As a sister does to a brother, Because of a law that is greater than that you have made, Because I could do none other.

"Deal as you will with me. This is my choice to the end, To live in the life I vowed."

"She is self-confessed," they cried; "she is self-condemned.

She shall die, that the rest may be cowed."

In the terrible hour of the dawn, when the veins are cold, They led her forth to the wall.

"I have loved my land," she said, "but it is not enough: Love requires of me all.

"I will empty my heart of the bitterness, hating none."

And sweetness filled her brave With a vision of understanding beyond the hour That knelled to the waiting grave.

They bound her eyes, but she stood as if she shone.

The rifles it was that shook When the hoa.r.s.e command rang out. They could not endure That last, that defenceless look.

And the officer strode and pistolled her surely, ashamed That men, seasoned in blood, Should quail at a woman, only a woman,-- As a flower stamped in the mud.

And now that the deed was securely done, in the night When none had known her fate, They answered those that had striven for her, day by day: "It is over, you come too late."

And with many words and sorrowful-phrased excuse Argued their German right To kill, most legally; hard though the duty be, The law must a.s.sert its might.

Only a woman! yet she had pity on them, The victim offered slain To the G.o.ds of fear that they wors.h.i.+p. Leave them there, Red hands, to clutch their gain!

She bewailed not herself, and we will bewail her not, But with tears of pride rejoice That an English soul was found so crystal-clear To be triumphant voice

Of the human heart that dares adventure all But live to itself untrue, And beyond all laws sees love as the light in the night, As the star it must answer to.

The hurts she healed, the thousands comforted--these Make a fragrance of her fame.

But because she stept to her star right on through death It is Victory speaks her name.

_Laurence Binyon_

THE h.e.l.l-GATE OF SOISSONS

My name is Darino, the poet. You have heard? _Oui, Comedie Francaise_.

Perchance it has happened, _mon ami_, you know of my unworthy lays.

Ah, then you must guess how my fingers are itching to talk to a pen; For I was at Soissons, and saw it, the death of the twelve Englishmen.

My leg, _malheureus.e.m.e.nt_, I left it behind on the banks of the Aisne.

Regret? I would pay with the other to witness their valor again.

A trifle, indeed, I a.s.sure you, to give for the honor to tell How that handful of British, undaunted, went into the Gateway of h.e.l.l.

Let me draw you a plan of the battle. Here we French and your Engineers stood; Over there a detachment of German sharpshooters lay hid in a wood.

A _mitrailleuse_ battery planted on top of this well-chosen ridge Held the road for the Prussians and covered the direct approach to the bridge.

It was madness to dare the dense murder that spewed from those ghastly machines.

(Only those who have danced to its music can know what the _mitrailleuse_ means.) But the bridge on the Aisne was a menace; our safety demanded its fall: "Engineers,--volunteers!" In a body, the Royals stood out at the call.

Death at best was the fate of that mission--to their glory not one was dismayed.

A party was chosen--and seven survived till the powder was laid.

And _they_ died with their fuses unlighted. Another detachment! Again A sortie is made--all too vainly. The bridge still commanded the Aisne.

We were fighting two foes--Time and Prussia--the moments were worth more than troops.

We _must_ blow up the bridge. A lone soldier darts out from the Royals and swoops For the fuse! Fate seems with us. We cheer him; he answers--our hopes are reborn!

A ball rips his visor--his khaki shows red where another has torn.

Will he live--will he last--will he make it? _Helas!_ And so near to the goal!

A second, he dies! then a third one! A fourth! Still the Germans take toll!

A fifth, _magnifique_! It is magic! How does he escape them? He may....

Yes, he _does_! See, the match flares! A rifle rings out from the wood and says "Nay!"

Six, seven, eight, nine take their places, six, seven, eight, nine brave their hail; Six, seven, eight, nine--how we count them! But the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth fail!

A tenth! _Sacre nom!_ But these English are soldiers--they know how to try; (He fumbles the place where his jaw was)--they show, too, how heroes can die.

Ten we count--ten who ventured unquailing--ten there were--and ten are no more!

Yet another salutes and superbly essays where the ten failed before.

G.o.d of Battles, look down and protect him! Lord, his heart is as Thine-- let him live!

But the _mitrailleuse_ splutters and stutters, and riddles him into a sieve.

Then I thought of my sins, and sat waiting the charge that we could not withstand.

And I thought of my beautiful Paris, and gave a last look at the land, At France, my _belle France_, in her glory of blue sky and green field and wood.

Death with honor, but never surrender. And to die with such men--it was good.

They are forming--the bugles are blaring--they will cross in a moment and then....

When out of the line of the Royals (your island, _mon ami_, breeds men) Burst a private, a tawny-haired giant--it was hopeless, but, _ciel!_ how he ran!

_Bon Dieu_ please remember the pattern, and make many more on his plan!

No cheers from our ranks, and the Germans, they halted in wonderment too; See, he reaches the bridge; ah! he lights it! I am dreaming, it _cannot_ be true.

Screams of rage! _Fusillade!_ They have killed him! Too late though, the good work is done.