A Treasury of War Poetry Part 25

Around no fire the soldiers sleep to-night, But lie a-wearied on the ice-bound field, With cloaks wrapt round their sleeping forms, to s.h.i.+eld Them from the northern winds. Ere comes the light Of morn brave men must arm, stern foes to fight.

The sentry stands, his limbs with cold congealed; His head a-nod with sleep; he cannot yield, Though sleep and snow in deadly force unite.

Amongst the sleepers lies the Boy awake, And wide-eyed plans brave glories that transcend The deeds of heroes dead; then dreams o'ertake His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend To one grand theme, and through all barriers break To guard from hurt his faithful sleeping friend.

_Sydney Oswald_

"ON LES AURA!"

SOLDAT JACQUES BONHOMME LOQUITUR:

See you that stretch of sh.e.l.l-torn mud spotted with pools of mire, Crossed by a burst abandoned trench and tortured strands of wire, Where splintered pickets reel and sag and leprous trench-rats play, That scour the Devil's hunting-ground to seek their carrion prey?

That is the field my father loved, the field that once was mine, The land I nursed for my child's child as my fathers did long syne.

See there a mound of powdered stones, all flattened, smashed, and torn, Gone black with damp and green with slime?--Ere you and I were born My father's father built a house, a little house and bare, And there I brought my woman home--that heap of rubble there!

The soil of France! Fat fields and green that bred my blood and bone!

Each wound that scars my bosom's pride burns deeper than my own.

But yet there is one thing to say--one thing that pays for all, Whatever lot our bodies know, whatever fate befall, We hold the line! We hold it still! My fields are No Man's Land, But the good G.o.d is debonair and holds us by the hand.

"_On les aura!_" See there! and there I soaked heaps of huddled, grey!

My fields shall laugh--enriched by those who sought them for a prey.

_James H. Knight-Adkin_

TO AN OLD LADY SEEN AT A GUESTHOUSE FOR SOLDIERS

Quiet thou didst stand at thine appointed place, There was no press to purchase--younger grace Attracts the youth of valour. Thou didst not know, Like the old, kindly Martha, to and fro To haste. Yet one could say, "In thine I prize The strength of calm that held in Mary's eyes."

And when they came, thy gracious smile so wrought They knew that they were given, not that they bought.

Thou didst not tempt to vauntings, and pretence Was dumb before thy perfect woman's sense.

Blest who have seen, for they shall ever see The radiance of thy benignity.

_Alexander Robertson_

THE CASUALTY CLEARING STATION

A bowl of daffodils, A crimson-quilted bed, Sheets and pillows white as snow-- White and gold and red-- And sisters moving to and fro, With soft and silent tread.

So all my spirit fills With pleasure infinite, And all the feathered wings of rest Seem flocking from the radiant West To bear me thro' the night.

See, how they close me in.

They, and the sisters' arms.

One eye is closed, the other lid Is watching how my spirit slid Toward some red-roofed farms, And having crept beneath them slept Secure from war's alarms.

_Gilbert Waterhouse_

HILLS OF HOME

Oh! yon hills are filled with sunlight, and the green leaves paled to gold, And the smoking mists of Autumn hanging faintly o'er the wold; I dream of hills of other days whose sides I loved to roam When Spring was dancing through the lanes of those distant hills of home.

The winds of heaven gathered there as pure and cold as dew; Wood-sorrel and wild violets along the hedgerows grew, The blossom on the pear-trees was as white as flakes of foam In the orchard 'neath the shadow of those distant hills of home.

The first white frost in the meadow will be s.h.i.+ning there to-day And the furrowed upland glinting warm beside the woodland way; There, a bright face and a clear hearth will be waiting when I come, And my heart is throbbing wildly for those distant hills of home.

_Malcolm Hemphrey_

THE RED CROSS SPIRIT SPEAKS

Wherever war, with its red woes, Or flood, or fire, or famine goes, There, too, go I; If earth in any quarter quakes Or pestilence its ravage makes, Thither I fly.

I kneel behind the soldier's trench, I walk 'mid shambles' smear and stench, The dead I mourn; I bear the stretcher and I bend O'er Fritz and Pierre and Jack to mend What sh.e.l.ls have torn.

I go wherever men may dare, I go wherever woman's care And love can live, Wherever strength and skill can bring Surcease to human suffering, Or solace give.

I helped upon Haldora's sh.o.r.e; With Hospitaller Knights I bore The first red cross; I was the Lady of the Lamp; I saw in Solferino's camp The crimson loss.

I am your pennies and your pounds; I am your bodies on their rounds Of pain afar: I am _you_, doing what you would If you were only where you could-- Your avatar.

The cross which on my arm I wear, The flag which o'er my breast I bear, Is but the sign Of what you'd sacrifice for him Who suffers on the h.e.l.lish rim Of war's red line.

_John Finley_

CHAPLAIN TO THE FORCES

["I have once more to remark upon the devotion to duty, courage, and contempt of danger which has characterized the work of the Chaplains of the Army throughout this campaign."--_Sir John French, in the Neuve Chapelle dispatch_.]