HE FIGHT OF CANADA 1 1 |Mi] ii Mi i iM | iii M iii M iiii i| ii Mm iii i if "»"»*■* ' ^i^''^ i ^<^ * «m >yf!gp* UC-NRLF B E 7Tfl EflT Dou61as Leadei* DurkiB BERKELEY LIBRARY UNIVFRF.ITY OF CALIFORNIA J THE FIGHTING MEN OF CANADA y -// t^>^L-af?C^->'*-^ C - IP.M. THE FIGHTING MEN OF CANADA BY DOUGLAS LEADER DURKIN : McClelland, goodchild & stewart j publishers :: :: :: toronto I. I. copyright, canada, 1918 By McClelland, goodchild & stewart, limited TORONTO PRINTED IN CANADA. TO THE CANADIANS AT THE FRONT . 796 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.archive.org/details/figlitingmenofcanOOdurl Leaped at the blare of the trumpet Free from the shackles of self; Haggling tongues on the market. Babbling Hps on the square, Fashion'd a word that the high heavens heard. Whispered it once in a prayer. Silent-tongued dwellers on frontiers. Peace-loving souls on the grange, Brawny-limbed brood of the mountains. Weather-bronzed sons of the range, Stout-hearted hewers of forests. Brown-beaten men of the soil Heard from afar the grim challenge of war — Rose in the sweat of their toil. 14 Back went the word from a people Bred with a will to be free, ''Mother, thy daughter stands ready Still to prove daughter to thee!" Spoke then the heart of the Mother, Swelling with pride in her Day, "Soul of my soul, where the battle-clouds roll, We are one soul in the fray !'* 15 THE MEN WHO STOOD WHY, with the odds ten to one, did they stay. Playing the game for a wager of blood, Holding a legion of demons at bay For a day and a night, for a night and a day — Do you ask zvhy they stood f Shed on the soul of a man of the plains Beams of a sun with a quickening ray; Fill the young blood of his wild coursing veins Full of the pride of his orient day; Trace on his brow in the light of the morn Symbols of dreams of a nation to be, Touch him to visions of cities unborn Crowding the shores of a shimmering sea; Bring to the soul of a man of the hills Harrowing winds from the canyons of snow, Give him to know in the thing that he wills Men can be gods though they suffer below; Show him the stars where they set on the rim Crowning the granite that lifts to the blue, Tune the great chords of his soul to the hymn Sung by the planets the living night through; 16 Give to the soul of a man of the north Faith in the blood of an unwithered race, Joy in the labour of infinite worth, Vigour that grows to an exquisite grace ; Breathe on him tales of his grim-visaged sires, Teach him the curse of a kingdom in thrall. Fill him with hate for a nation of liars. Quicken his heart with a clarion's call; Then, with the odds ten to one, bid him stay, Face the hell-horrors or welter in blood, Holding the line with the legions at bay, And he'll die in his night or he'll live in his day, But they'll know that he stood! 17 2 P.M. ROLL, ROLL, ROLL I Thky drags you out o' mornin's and you takes the trail in fours, ^ And you jogs up at the double for a puffin' hour or so; Then they stands you in the open where the beefy sergeant roars, And they talks a lot o' piffle that they thinks you ought to know. For it's roll, roll, roll — Rollin' up to glory; Oh, it's roll, roll, roll, In the rain or in the sun — We're a-rollin' up to glory with a blanket and a gun. II They talks on good behaviour till you're holdin' of yer head. If you argues with an N.C.O. they puts you in the clink; They tells you when to wash yer feet and when to go to bed, And there's hell to pay with int'rest if you take an extra drink ! So it's roll, roll, roll — Rollin' up to glory; Oh, it's roll, roll, roll- How's a man to have his fun When they orders you to sleep before the night is half begun? 18 Ill They runs you down to action in a jiggin' cattle-car, Then they leads you over cobble-stones at twenty mile a day; When you've lost yer bloomin' bearin's and you don't know where you are They packs you into billets on a half a pound o' hay. And it's roll, roll, roll — Rollin' up to glory; Oh, it's roll, roll, "roll— If it happens we should die, Then we'll find the way to heaven or we'll know the reason why. IV Thev pokes you into trenches where you hear the bullets fly. When you duck yer head or whimper you're the regi- ment's disgrace; Then they packs you full of bully beef and sends you out to die. And they throws you in a hole and sticks another in your place! Oh, it's roll, roll, roll— Rollin' up to glory; Oh, it's roll, roll, roll, * Where the crazy bullets run, But we'll roll up Piccadilly when the fightin' days are done! 19 V Oh, we never was a credit to our brothers back at home, We were cussed for bHghted sinners and we never knew our prayers; But we'll fight like very devils till the days o' kingdom come, And we'll square accounts with Heaven when we climb the golden stairs. So it's roll, roll, roll — Rollin' up to glory ; Oh, it's roll, roll, roll. Till we settle with the Hun ; Then it's rollin' back to Blighty when the settlin' days are done! 20 CARRY ON! Is the game all up, are the boys all in ? Never mind, old man — carry on ! Have you met defeat where you thought to win? Play up, old man — carry on ! Are your eyes a-swim in a blinding sun? Are your best men crippled, your team-mates done? Are the wagers against you, five to one? Buck up, old man! Carry on! Carry on! Are you groggy and dazed at the close of the round? Come back, old man — carry on ! Jump in and mix it, and hold your ground — That's it, old man — carry on ! Do you wish like sin that the match was through ? All right — your man may be all in too — He's probably bluffing the same as you ; Lead out, old man ! Carry on ! Carry on ! Is your line in the air and your colonel dead? All right, old man — carry on ! Are your picked men shattered and plugged with lead? What odds, old man? — carry on! Lie low, hold on, keep pegging away — It's grit that counts in the game you play, And it's grit, after all, that wins the day — Stand to, old man ! Carry on ! Carry on ! 21 THE RIP O' HADES WOULD you hear a little story, (Not a bang-up tale o' glory) But a hit of good enough, sir, just the same — Hoiv a poor soul, danified for fair. Took his summons, madt his prayer. Cashed in sudden, closed his eyes and quit the game? He was born in stormy weather when the stars were out of tune, When the Lord of Heaven blundered in his ways, Just a soulless rip o' Hades farrowed in a luckless moon From a dame who loved the devil all her days. There was never priest to bless him, there was never kiss of maid, There was never virgin smile to wish him well; There was just a throb of passion from a low-born drunken jade Ere she signed her own eternal soul to hell. When he drank the milk of venom from a vampire's poison'd dugs, When he lisped his first low curses to the skies. When he went to school to Fortune, ate with harlots, slept with thugs. Primed his soul on petty crimes and devil's Hes; When he stacked the cards with Heaven, when he tossed the dice with Death, There was never God nor Christ nor woman's love; But the Circumstance that damned him when he drew his first faint breath Wrote his record for the Book of Life above. 22 When he trailed the crowded city, shared his booty with the gang, Crawled to hiding from the law that man had made, He was still a soulless devil biding still his time to hang, Doomed to die the death of HjcII — but unafraid ! He was still the hound of Hades, hunting still the deviFs game, With the brand of Satan seared upon his brow, Still the low, ditch-farrowed issue of a thing without a name. Snatching blessings from his curse of Here and Now. When he joined the brown battalions, set his face to meet the dawn. Where the vandal-lust of princes gathered toll, Never call of Christian duty drew his jaunty spirit on. Never sacred thought or impulse stirred his soul; There was n'er a farewell token, ne'er a prayer to God above. There was ne'er a wish of luck or fond good-bye ; But the hungry kiss of passion from his little light o' love And a half -shed tear that lingered in her eye. When he left his Flemish billet, took his turn within the line, He could smile at slush and slime and beds of mud; Though he railed at God Almighty, he could stand and never whine. He could rush in hell-to-split through fields of blood ; He could wriggle out to No-man's Land and join the phantom host Where the dead arose and stalked about in white; He could roll a quid beneath a flare or tango with a ghost. He could dally where the bullets ripped the night 23 When he waited for the morning, when he stood to in the gloom, While the dizzy shock of thunder woke the night, When he heard the dogs of vengeance barking out their iron doom. All his heart was up with passion for the fight. He would whistle "Tipperary" when he heard the bullets whine, He would caper when the saucy Maxims whirred; He would curse the tardy captain when he held the eager line, He was first up when the captain gave his word. When we charged them at the double he was first across the field. He was first to use his steel upon the Hun ; He was last to stay his fury when we saw the Bosches yield, And he damned them all for dastards when we won ; Then he railed in ribald challenge, we would meet them one to four, And he turned to chide the captain for his stand. But behind us in the open lay the captain in his gore, Striving still to voice a word of stern command. Then we heard this rip o' Hades fling his curse at God above As he tossed his belt and tunic to the ground ; With a parting prayer to heaven for his little light o' love. He was up and out of cover at a bound ; 24 He was raked with zipping bullets, but he mocked them with his grin; Then we saw him fall — ''They've got me, boys!" he cried ; But before he crawled to cover he had lugged his captain in — Then he cursed his luck infernal — and he died! So you've heard the little story — Call it not a tale of glory — It's a story something worth, sir, just the same; Though his words zvere devil's lies, Somewhere tears in woman s eyes Plead God's mercy on a man who played the game. 25 THE WAY OF IT NitvKR a prince on a palfrey, Never a queen in a bower, But somewhere the graves on the hillsides Have told of the price of power! Never a nation's manhood Works in a day of peace, But the hearts of the nation's bravest ~ Have burst that the strife might cease! Never a nation's beauty Treads in her beaded feet, But the hearts of the nation's fairest Have wept at the drum's loud beat ! Never a nation's mothers Croon to their little ones. But the hearts of the nation's noblest Have bled for their gallant sons! Never a nation's children Laugh in the sun and the flowers. But the hearts of a nation's wee folk Have sobbed through the long dead hours! Never a shout of triumph, Never a song of love, But somewhere white lips in the hioonlight Have cursed to the skies above! 26 Never a nation's To-morrowj Never a Day-to-be, But the blood of stout-limbed freemen Has purpled the waves of the sea! Never a Heaven of mercy Breaks in the golden light, But somewhere behind it in darkness Yawneth a Hell in the night! 27 IFI The cruel god of Circumstance Once asked a woman's naked soul, (A blasted soul, a soul that Chance Had black-damned with a single glance) What magic word could make her whole. "What word?" The woman raised her head: ''What word can make my dead soul live?'* She smiled. ''I know one word," she said, "Can save — or damn a Hfe instead!" And sadly then she answered — "//.'" 28 THE MOTHER SOUL SPOKE Dai, the Mother, the Giver of Life, unto Man Where leaped the red flashes of madness, the fires of Death: Look, I have given ye sons, I have mothered ye men — This would I say ere ye seek me to wed me again : See the deep red of the earth and the rivers of red ; Mark on the winds of the dawn the black stench of the dead! II When, at the top of the World, in the birthday of Time, Virgin ye found me and breathed in your passionate prime. Full of the blush of the day and the flame of desire; When at the fall of the Sun in the sea-fields of fire Fairly ye wooed me and led to the cover of Night, Breathing of races to be in the Ages of Light — Was it for this that I came, in my blindness, to yield, Bowed to ye so ye might scatter my Flesh in the field? 29 Ill Long have I wooed ye to labour together in Peace, Wept in the soul of my soul that the slaughter should cease ; Wept for the man-hunted man and the foe-broken foe, Searing the heart and the brain with the madness of woe; Oft have ye given the word, but your word is a lie! Still ye return to the steel and the reek fills the sky Where from your flame-spitting tubes leap the quick tongues of Death, Wasting the flesh of my flesh that I quickened with breath ; Still ye return with the bitters of Hate in your blood, Seeking a life for a Hfe in your barbarous mood. IV This would I speak to ye, then, while your Hate-fires rage, Speak from the top of my World, in the dawn of my Age, Red in the light of my Day springing fresh from the east: Quit ye the mode of the Brute and the rule of the Beast, Seeking your glory in carnage, your profit in rape; Take from your high-moulded brow the low dream of the ape. Filling your nights with designs for the blasting of life, Glooming your days with the smoke rolling up from the strife ! 30 .^<^- V Mother of man, in the throes that have given ye men, Long have I waited and heard yet again and again Battle-shock spHtting the earth with the thunder of doom! Never again in the warmth of my Hfe-giving womb Will I breathe soul of my soul into warrior clay; Never again will I carry the blue of the day Down through my blood to the eyes of a man yet to be — Or writhe in my agony setting a warrior free ! This is the word that I give ye; go think ye apart — Woo me again when the Hate-flame is dead in your heart. Thus Dai, the Mother^ the Life-giver, spake unto Man Where leaped the red flashes of madness, the fires of Death. 31 TRAILS O' MINE DO ye wait, old trails o' mine, Twisting, turning trails o' mine? Do ye listen for my footfall coming up the winding shore? Are my secrets with ye still Where ye top the proudest hill? Do ye wonder, wonder, wonder, that I come to ye no more? There^s a wind among the willows, there's a cloud above the shore, There's a grey sky sloping downward to the plain ; On the hills the gods have spent their tubes of colour by the score. And have washed their long reed-brushes in the rain; There's a whisper in the crisping grass where breezes scurry by, There's a calling from the Northland in the night. There's a sound of whistling pinions and a plaintive broken cry Wafted downward from the wild- fowl in his flight. There's a chattering where the wood-folk garner in their winter's store. And a lisping where the brown leaves wait and die; All the days return to silence, for the gods have sealed the door, And the warrior-ghosts are leaping in the sky. Now the hunter's door is opened, and the maiden's lodge is shut. Now the musk-rat breaks the slough-pond's icy rim; Now the bull-moose seeks his shelter and the beaver builds his hut. And the bear returns to make his lair trim. 32 Where the lazy-moving heavens touch the range's haughty crest I would stand with face to windward in a gale, I would find me wooded shelter where a man may take his rest When a-weary from a long day on the trail; I would pull — an ye would let me — fragrant cedar from the limb, I would rake the fire and range the branches there, I would lay me where my eyes could trace the valley's eastern rim. And the gods could do the rest — I know their care. Have ye sought your shifty bearings in a blizzard from the north? Have ye split the rock-bound silence with your yell? Has your heart beat high in triumph as you dragged your quarry forth From the hidden spot to leeward where it fell? Can you shake the dice with Heaven, throw for throw, and take your luck Though the cubes seem plugged to win for all but you? Can you smile your ''Even so!" and cover wagers with your pluck? Can you stay — for all you lose — and see it through? Never mind — ye never knew it — never felt the red blood thrill With a passion for the silences of God ; Never faced the grim Eternal, read Creation's cryptic Will, Stole her secrets, sued her love and cursed her rod! 33 S F.M. Dear old trails that knew my coming, are ye waiting for me still Where the shades steal upward to the mountain's brow? Do ye wait my footfall's echo coming weary from the hill? Oh, my heart is filled with longing for you now! Trails o' mine, be patient still, Keep my secrets with ye till I have counted out the long days in a land across the sea; Then the days of sweet delight When we've finished with the fight And Vve packed my kit and started up the trails so dear to me! 34 THE FATHER SPEAKS I I HAVE asked myself, yes, every day Since he gripped my hand and hurried away, "If the news should come that the lad was dead, How would you take it?" And I have said, (To myself of course), "Ah, my heart would break, But Vd do my best for his mother's sake!" II For a man's a man, you see, and I — Well, times will come when a man must lie; And I said to myself, "I will lie to her. And she'll never see with her eyes a-blur From the tears in them — and she'll never know." And I thought to myself that I'd maybe go Away by myself somewhere and sit Alone awhile; and if for a bit I quit the struggle and bowed my head And wept for loneliness, "Well," I said, "What odds? No one will the wiser be, No one will know but God and me." Ill And then — it came. The lad was dead. ''Killed in action/' the message said. IV That was days ago, and I haven't slept One hour since — and I've scarcely wept, For I've not been sad — and my heart is light — And I've not been lonely. For every night I have seen him here; he has talked with me; And all day long he has walked with me ; 35 And every day in the crowded street, Where go the busy, hurrying feet Of the shuffling crowd, I have felt him near Freeing my soul of a nameless Fear. V But a man's a man, and the heart will fail, And the days grow stern, and the lights grow pale; And the night comes down when faith goes out, And the soul gropes blind in a maze of doubt. VI And the hour will come, as it came to me Just yestereve, when we cannot see Why the thing we planned must never grow Into the thing we hoped for. So — Last night it came. I remembered how When the lad was small I had touched his brow Where he lay asleep in his little bed. Weary from play. And my heart had fed Greedily then with a foolish pride. And a foolish joy that I could not hide From his mother's eyes, on the future when The lad would stand in a world of men Playing a man's full part. And I lay Last night — all night — till the rising day Broke in the east — and I could not sleep And I watched the grey day slowly creep Over a cold world lately dead. And the long grey shafts that slowly spread Over a cold sky. And I cried Out of a heart where hope had died, "No rising day and no dawn for me !" For life was dark and I could not see Through the heavy mists, and I looked abroad On a cheerless world where there was no God. 36 VII Then in the silence I bowed and wept For the lad that was gone. But a Presence crept Close to my side and there fell a word So soft, so still, that I scarcely heard, "Why weepest thou in the night for me? Dost thou recall when I went from thee Smiling to take a man's full share And render a man's account? 'Twas there Life's morning broke like a day new born Out of the clouds of night, and morn Came on my soul. Did you miss it then — Miss the meaning of hfe, that men Who are men indeed must come to know Somewhere, sometime, if they ever grow Into the stature that God ordains. Or free themselves of the sordid chains That weigh like lead ? There is work to do For men that are men, for such as you Whose sons have gone up the long white trail Over the hilltops, past the pale ' Of earthly vision. Count it joy That somewhere undaunted stood a boy Who was flesh of your flesh, who knew the thrill Of the crowded moment and strove to fill His last sweet hour with something true To the blood he boasted. Only the few Have lived supremely. Take his word That over the shock of the battle he heard His father's voice that bade him stand, Felt the strength of his sire's hand Double the strength of his own, and died Unconquered still. Know that his pride Was ever in this, that his record proved 37 He had accounted the Hfe he loved Only less dear than honor. Then Turn to the task of your day again, Heart-high, soul-strong, with a living will Mounting the height and singing still." VHI Thus spoke the voice, and upon my sight Sudden the day broke silver white. "Dawn !" I cried. *'It is dawn for me, And the rising hour of a Day-to-be!" 38 THE BLACK SHEEP There: were seven in a flock, such a proper little flock, And their fleeces were all as white as snow, And they framed a little creed for their little souls to heed And to ponder on wherever they should go. "We shall never rage or fight, nor go prowling late at night, Nor sport near the bramble or the mire ; We shall never bring regret to our dam, nor cause a fret For our noble and our very proper sire/* But that very proper dam bred a curly little lamb That the sire of the flock wouldn't own. For its woolly little back was a splashy inky black, So they left it out to grow up all alone. When the fussy little ewe heard it bleating down below. Where they left it to sicken in the cold, She stole out in the night, though she knew it wasn't right, And she suckled it — but never, never told I And this little patch of sin, thus rejected by his kin. Every day nursed a hankering to roam; But at night he loved to revel, did this frisky little devil, While his brothers said their decent prayers at home. All the proper little sheep ran together in a heap When they heard him come tearing up the lane; And they thanked their God in heaven, did this Pharisaic seven, For such fleeces as their own without a stain. 39 In a spell of dirty weather he would chew his knotted tether, He would cock his ears and lash his inky tail ; There was venom in his eye when the winds were blowing high — He could face the very devil in a gale. Still this black sheep loved no other as he loved his little mother, And he wept like a sinner at the form When she pulled him to his feet from the slough of grim defeat. Or lugged him into shelter from the storm. Once there came a wolfish howl, oh, a hungry chilling growl, With a note like the harbinger of doom. And the seven that were white stood and shivered in their fright, And the sire's proper face was veiled in gloom. When the hungry wolf and bold took a peep into the fold. Just a wolfish little peep for wolfish ends. The nervous little dam called her wicked little lamb. Steering homeward from a riot with his friends. Then the little imp of hell shook his saucy little bell (And for once his kin rejoiced that he had sinned). For he loved the name of trouble, and he came up at the double. And he got the lanky robber in the wind. 40 For a fiendish hour or so there were wolfish wails of woe, There was yelping and growling in the night, For the' lamb, though poorly bred, had been taught to use his head And to put his best feet forward in a fight. When the wolf limped back to cover, after all the scrap was over, He had framed a new decision all his own ; Though he made a goodly dinner on the poor benighted sinner — He would leave his woolly brothers quite alone. In the fold the zealous seven paid their proper dues to heaven That had saved them from such a horrid fate, But the fussy little dam wept a little for her lamb. Though she never, never told her proper mate. 41 PEACE AND WAR I Now the upward-reaching ages find us looking back again To our world's half-risen morning, aping Adam, mocking Cain ! While they hacked out shapeless dogmas, carved their nameless trinities, Hugged their petty dispensations, conned their pallid litanies, Did our huddling priesthood reckon that within Creation's womb Stirred the lust, the hot blood-passion that should make the world a tomb? How our cavilling quillmen scribbled of a day when war should cease ! How our churchmen moved the people with their paltry prayers for peace ! II Pray for Peace ! Old men in chapels chattering nonsense to the skies; Prating women, white-lipped, wet-eyed; hucksters mut- tering blasphemies ! Give us peace for truck and trade, for bartering souls and battening kings. Peace to steep the garb of Freedom in the blood of underlings ! Ill Ye have had your peace in plenty — did ye find it curse or boon ? Choose ye Peace with curse of soul or War from cursed Greed immune? 42 War where fire and blasting bullet leap to silence cursing men — Peace where cursed starveHng offspring fling their curse at God again? War with widows, homeless, shattered, weeping where their masters fell — Peace with unwed mothers cursing heaven and sinking down to hell? Bestial War with ravish'd maidens screaming death-de- fiance still — Dove-like Peace with murdered Christs and Golgoth's gloom on every hill? Choose ye then! Is War inhuman though they sow the field with skulls, Though they spy a thousand merchant-men and rip their belHed hulls? IV Time was when the Roman Eagle screamed her challenge from the shore, Met, and fought, and slew a foeman worthy of the name he bore ; Saxon Alfred found his freemen sturdy-limbed and ruddy-browed. Wooing mates untamed by fashion, still unschooled to court the crowd; Briton's word was Briton's honour — never blushed a Briton then For the double word in dealing to confound his brother men; Rose a day when Spanish galleons set the helm and swept the main, But our English seamen chilled their hearts and quelled their high disdain ; 43 Pursy kings and fatted bishops wooing minions in the night Paled at cry of English yeomen rising to defend the right ! V Has it fled — that haughty spirit — crowning low-born, nothing base, Filling years with golden legend, earnest of a happy race? Is it gone forever from us ? Have we flung to grovelling swine Jewels that had crowned the nation, had each said, "FU hold to mine !'' VI "What of Progress?" asks your spaniel-hearted servant of decree; "Would ye scorn the Age's genius shackling powers on land and sea?'' Progress reared on dollar- value, pounds and pence the rule of worth — Thus ye measure men and choose your gilded masters of the earth ! For the others, leaden-hearted, leaden- faced, the count- less throng — All are underlings, by breeding doomed to share the system's wrong — Witless, calloused brood of Mammon! Yet I saw the digger's tear Seam his weather'd face on hearing the first lark-song of the year! Though ye rear a thousand Sidons, plant a port on every bay. Out-dream all Phoenicia's princes in the cargoes of one day, 44 Yet if in one unborn child ye plant the hate of God and man While the mother, helpless, hopeless, empties life to fill your plan. All your trade is trinket-trafficking, your cargoes worth- less gauds, And ye thrive in Belial-cities, sons of Belial, born of clods ; Sons of Belial, dedicating holy altars to a name, Pagan still, and worse than pagan in your Christian want of shame; Bowed in worship at the shrine of heathen gods in Christian guise — Zealots of another Moloch, trusting Baal's decent lies! VII Ye have had your peace in plenty — did it give ye men of power. Men of true world-soul, or slaves to petty factions of an hour? Have ye made a People's Empire where the best is honoured first, Where the good in all may grow for all and rise to quell the worst? Empires still are built on Honour, not on pact and party creed — Built of men, not clouts and patches, ravening rape and shameless greed! VIII What of war? What though the challenge shrills to wake an Empire's night? We have made us men of valour who shall match the Teuton's might! 45 They have stung the shaggy Lion, they have waked her sleeping brood, They have stirred a mighty impulse that will work a Nation's good; What though sullen dogs have slipped the leash to smirch the name we bear — We have loosed our grey dogs of the seas and chased them to their lair; We have raised a flag above the dune and held the Hun at bay, While our island millions cleared their brows and rose to meet the day; Though the lurking pirates wait below to blast the shallop's keel, Though they spread the shores with derelicts and ring the isles with steel. Though their savage legions reach the sea across a field of shame, Though they fill the night with havoc-craft — they earn a craven's name ! IX Hymn of Hate or Prayer of Passion — cries that prove a baser kind — Think not these could rouse a royal race of noble heart and mind; We have heard their empty orisons, such rites as pagans feign, Rising where the reek of battle masks the sky and shrouds the plain; We have heard the blaring trumpets of the proud Assyrian host, We have numbered all their millions — but we scorn their idle boast! 46 Paynim prince or timely prophet — these can court a coward's awe; But the Judge of Nations speaks a word to them that know the Law; Saith the Judge, '*Lo, knaves have made their nation's Word a nation's Lie; But the Truth must ever conquer and the Base must ever die!" X This the word that makes us heroes — this the meaning of the strife: "All the Worth of Life is worthless were it bought with less than Life I" 47 GOOD-BYES, A LA MODE I MiSTRii:ss A and Mistress B Toyed with little cups of tea, Whispered little things they heard So-and-So say — word for word ; Blackened, every time they spoke, Names of fairly decent folk; Spread the scandal You-know-who Told of Madame Well-to-do ; Who was straight, and who was not — And more of such damned silly rot ! Then they lingered near the door, Kissed a dozen times or more, Sang "So long!" and Mistress A Lied once yet — and went her way ! II Juliet and Romeo (Not the two that, long ago. Mister Shakespeare wrote about) Sat and watched the tide go out; Watched the moon above the sea — Sighed and bed most soulfuUy; Wished they might for evermore Sit upon that same old shore; Held warm hands and kissed a bit — But what's the use of telHng it! Long each clung to each when they Sobbed their good-byes, R and J; Each gave pledge in solemn vow — Thought they meant it anyhow! 48 Ill Private X and Sapper Y Met once just to say good-bye; From away back they had stood Side by side as old pals should ; Now that X was called away, Both had, oh, so much to say — Never said a word of it! They cussed a bit — and swore a bit — And shook a bit — but spoke no word — Then X wheeled quick and jumped on board! Someone placed a credit then To the names of these two men, Wrote it in the Book above — "X and Y — two men who love!" 4 F.M. THE MEN OF ST. ANNE'S Yt, who go up to the shrines to-day To old St. Anne's, where the good men pray, KneeHng a while in the silent nave, With eyes down-dropt, forgetful, grave. Pray not now for your world-stained souls ; What, will it matter so much at last Whether you're damned in your souls and cast Into some hell where the midnight rolls Heavy with death? There are millions more Who have knocked in vain on a God-sealed door ! Pray not either for victory On a blood-drenched plain or a purpled sea; Pleading, wet-eyed, with muttering lips, For the men who have gone to the sea in ships, Or stormed the hill in the rising day; Have ye not heard how the Trojans fought, How the Persians died, how the Romans wrought, How the men of old hacked out their way And stalked through blood? In a few short years Children will laugh where you drop your tears! Pray the rather for such as stay Waiting the dawn of an awful day When drains shall choke from the rising flood Fed from the gutters deep-gorged with blood Washed from the streets by the fallen rain; Ponder a while on a time when clay Leaping with madness shall slay and slay Such as were gods in a world of gain And a world of rape. Count well your beads At St. Anne's to-day, ye men of the creeds! 50 THE WESTERN SPIRIT WHAT is the Western Spirit? Speak, for the World would hear! And the mountains called — Send to the eastern sun-gates, To the wild beast in his den, Where the rud-red drops of a rising day Leap in the veins of men ; Choose from the wo.king millions, Sons of their fair-browed dames, Into their souls put a new-world dream To fire their halting frames ! And the cities spake — Give to us men of purpose, Born with an iron will, Men who have failed and have risen again, Bound to be freemen still ; Reared from the muck of serfdom. Sprung from the hero-germ, Men that are steel for a nation's frame, Pillars of granite firm ! And the prairies cried — Go to the sires of the Northland, Beckon their sons to the sea. Speak to their clean-limbed freemen-youth. And bid them come to me ; Back with your pallid princes, Hold to your tainted clout; Men of the world's best breeding Must hew our nation out! 51 FRITZ I You blustered and fussed with your neighbours at large, You blithered a lot in the height of your day; But all your tall cussin' and swellin' of gorge Was just between Willie and our little George — Leastwise we all thought it would finish that way. But Fritz, Fritz, Fritz, Now what was you dreamin' on, Fritz, While we was a-laughin' to hear you Gott straffin' And givin' old Johnny Bull fits ? II You heard Willie rant of his place in the sun. Of his seat in the Trinity, makin' it four; He jabbered a lot about nations undone, And he grinned when he told how the rotters would run From the Almighty's pets — and the Lord knows what more And Fritz, Fritz, Fritz, You swallowed it, didn't you, Fritz? You thought him the wiser, your little tin Kaiser, Whose gibberish addled your wits! / 52 Ill He winked at his word and he went out to pray, He called on his lords and they argued it well; They filled themselves bumpers and drank to the Day, Then gave you the word and you hurried away, And started in raisin' particular hell ! Oh, Fritz, Fritz, Fritz, And how you did startle us, Fritz, When you marched through the cities a-singin' hate- ditties And blowin' the country to bits. IV With the help o' the Lord you was goin' it strong, You capered o' nights on the graves o' your foes; But we're in the game now till the last dog is hung, And we've brought a few million "young rotters" along Who are pay in' back much of the stuff that we owes. Poor Fritz, Fritz, Fritz! And how do you like it, eh, Fritz? You crowed in your heyday — you thought we had died, eh? A mans never dead till he quits! 53 DREAMS I There lived a youth, a simple youth, Who dreamed a dream beside the way; A simple dream it was he dreamed — A dream of work, a dream of play, A little dream of every day, A dream of things much as they seemed Without the bitterness of truth ; Some smiling cynic passing near Heard all the dream and with a sneer He told the youth his dream gods lied- 'Tis said the little dreamer died! H There lived a maiden with a smile, A simple maid she was and shy; And she did dream a dream of love, And as she dreamed her radiant eye Beamed love on every passer-by; But while her fairy dream she wove She waited for true love the while; There came a thing in human guise Who snuffed the light that lit her eyes And left her. Then she sinned? they said- At any rate they found her dead! 54 Ill There lived a mother and a child, A simple mother sweet and true; And she did dream of all the years The boy should grow and learn to do The task a man is fashioned to ; And as she dreamed she shed soft tears — Her mother-heart with joy was wild! Then sudden on her dream there broke A cry, **To arms !" — The mother woke ! Ten thousand sons sleep side by side — What wonder if the mother died? 55 SILHOUETTES Two lovers on the sea-shore, cheek on cheek against the moon; A bugler on a hill-top sounding forth a battle-cry ; A gathering of men within a market-place at noon ; A maiden at the wayside where the brown files hurry by ; A forward rush of legions, drooping shapes upon the ground ; A long, low field of broken things all still upon the sand ; A row of mounds and crosses — cross on cross and mound on mound; A lonely maiden waiting where the wild sea laps the land ! 56 A WOMAN, A POET, A MAN A WOMAN there was and a poet there was And a man that was rich as a man could well be ; One laughed with the throng and one toyed with a song And one built a house by the side of the sea; And one was as fair as the sun at noon, And one had his soul from a flame of the gods; And one was as cold as his damned yellow gold, But knew how to wager and cover his odds ! Now one heard a song and was pleased with the strain, And one was in paradise seeing her smile ; But one saw the face that was fair and the grace Of her body — and slowly bethought him awhile; Then one saw the house by the side of the sea, While one, like a fool, wrote the song of his soul; And one played his game — though he guarded his name — Nor took with his pleasure a share of the dole ; Now one is a jade in a house by the street, And one dotes alone in an idiot's cell ; While the one that is free tells in rarest of glee A certain choice story — and chuckles like hell! 57 GODS The pagan hath made him a god of stone Or a god of clay; The man of the East hath a god of his own In the rising Day. And you — you have made you a god of a kind, That you cannot see, That you seek in your prayers and cannot find ; And you turn to me, And weep in your hearts for a godless man With a soul to save. Alas, though your priests my god would ban — It is all I have. 58 THE MISFIT OH, he had a sainted mother, And his dad was on the square, He could boast an honest brother And a sister who was fair; But he didn't take to ways of men, He coiddnt learn the game, So he hit the trail for God knows where, And took another name. I ^ He was weary of the city and the puppets in the street. He was heart-sick of the System's daily lie; He was sore from ever striving, he was madden'd from defeat, He was longing for the land of Do-or-die; So he wandered forth at midnight when the sleep was on the town, While the sons of Mammon slumbered in the night, And he bade farewell to worry and escaped the city's frown And he hied him to the open fields of white. II In a God- forsaken corner of Creation where the sky Meets the shaggy peaks of granite topped with snow He was picked up in a blizzard and was carried out to die In a cabin in the valley down below; Tie was warmed with hooch and bannock, he was cheered with voice of man, He was sung to by the north- wind in the night: 1 Ic was greeted by an outlaw host who lived beneath the ban Of the well-intentioned souls who love the light. 59 Ill There he caught the golden madness, knew the fever- driven brain, Learned to pick the virgin pocket on the shore, Sought to woo the fickle rivers for their cups of yellow grain — Slept to count his mad-dream-millions by the score ; There he drank with raving diggers till the light of morning sun Broke in shafts upon the mountain's silver rills; There he staggered up the canyon when the solo game was done, Singing ribald songs to wake the sleepy hills. IV There he waited till the autumn when the hillsides were afire With the tongues of livid hue on every limb. When the heart of men is pensive with a touch of high desire, And the stars at night take up Creation's hymn ; He had crammed his poke with lucre, he had gorged his greedy soul With the plunder from a dozen treasure streams; From a dozen rapid rivers he had sought and taken toll Of the treasures he had conjured up in dreams. 60 So he took the trail from Nowhere to* a city by the sea, Just to Hve a spell on trifles with the horde; Just to drink to pampered minions of a pale humanity, Or to pray among the chosen of the Lord ; Just to hear the noisy monster roll to wakefulness at dawn. Or to foot the blinking highway in the night ; Just to watch a beggared million put their hungry souls in pawn While they chase the fickle gleam of their delight. VI There he heard the tale of plunder in a land beyond the sea. Heard the tramp of grim battalions in the night : And he caught the whispered challenge from his goddess, Destiny, And he stepped out at the call and went to fight : At Neuve Chapelle and Languemarc he held the field of red. With his doughty pals in khaki, till he fell. And they threw him in a gutter wnth the gory-visaged dead — Silent — nameless — ^homeless — ^godless — shot to hell! Oh, he wore no badge of merit And he zvore no hero's name, He was well content to share it — Taint or glory, praise or blame; He ivas just a wild one of the kind The good ones cannot tame; And his soul went out to — God knows where. What oddsT — he kicked off game! 61 THE AWAKENING He:ard ye the murmur in the street to-night, A long low murmur in the crowded way ? Saw ye the glimmer of a fluttering light — A faint, new glimmer like a gleam of day? Read ye the secret in the toiler's face — Strange, hidden secret 'neath the seams of pain? Caught ye the music in his quickened pace — A lilting music of sublimer strain? Felt ye the blood-thrill in the proffered hand — The quickened blood-thrill in the palm of age? Was it a challenge or a loud command Pregnant with fire of prophetic rage? Hearken — the murmur ! On the western sky Lo, the bright symbols of a nation's day ! List — the loud challenge in the people's cry; A god's hand shapes an empire from th^ clay! 62 A LITTLE PHILOSOPHY WHAT is a world, my hoy? A little rain, a little sun, A little shore where ripples run, A little green upon the hill, A little glade, a little rill, A little day with skies above, A little night where shadows move, A little work for men to do, A little play for such as you ; A passing night, a coming mom, A coming love, a passing scorn ; Of blackest cloud a little bit With silver on the rim of it; A little trouble, lots of joy — And there you have a world, my boy ! 63 THE SISTERS Two sisters there were who were born in one day Of one saintly mother who dreamed in her soul Of a World that was fair and a God that was good ; And each of the two took her own chosen way To the courts of the gods where stern Destiny stood With Fate-measured portions of pleasure and dole. Now both of these sisters were shapely and fair And equally favoured in graces and smiles; But one of them knew that a woman may dare — While the other was artless, nor practised her wiles. And the one that could dare chose the way of the world, And smiled upon men and was gay with the throng, Laughed with red lips to the ^up that was red, Gave her proud challenge and sang her young song. Till once when but half of her graces were shed Dame Fortune grew cold and the woman was hurled From the place where she long had been queen. Then, by some, It was whispered at once — but be that as it may! Weary and broken she came to her home. And the mother forgave — in a mother's strange way! 64 But the other, still young, took the vows of a saint, And turned from the world and the devil, and gave Of the best of her days to her vows, for she knew In the heart of her heart, when a woman would save A soul that is bred in the flesh, with the taint Of the blood in her veins, and the flame of it too. She must stay by her beads. But there came to her life The big love of a man, and it lay on her soul Till it burned to the core of her night, and she stole But a moment to tell him the wish of her heart — That she might be a woman — and come to be wife! And there she was found! But at last, when the smart Of the thing she had done had been eased, while the ban Of her sect was still heavy — she went to her man ! And in time, when she knelt to her mother in tears, Her mother forgave her, and hushed her wild fears. But strange to relate, though the sisters have met, The one of the world has not pardoned her yet! 65 5 P.M. THE POET I woNDB^RED in an idle hour: "If God eternal could but give This soul of mine three lives to live, How should I spend my three-fold power?" I thought, "In one Td long to hold A world of music in my soul ; I*d play such harmonies as roll The spheres of heav'n — majestic, bold!*' "Then," thought I, "in the second one, I'd learn the Master Stroke from Gk)d And paint a face that men would laud And love until the world was done !" "And when the third should come to me, I'd be a poet — last but best! Or let me wish back all the rest — Fd be a poet in all three!" 66 SOMETIMES Sometimes in darkest waters whitest lilies blow; The wildest seas hush down to sleep serene ; And sometimes where the deep grey shadows come and go The brightest beams smile lovingly between. 67 COLONIALS We: filled your nights with terrible frights, we trouble your days with fears, For the youngest sons are the cussedest ones in dignifie ^ families; You took us aside in your wounded pride and covere our heads with tears, Then gave us a tip dn takin' a trip — and bundled t overseas ! It was, "Poor young beggar, Colonial!" And, "Oh, you worried us so! You know we couldn't put up at 'ome With stuff like you, so we let you roam — Oh, no — we couldn't, you know !" We found a berth on the edge of the earth, we settle and made our prayer; But we gave small heed to manners or creed, for w hadn't a soul to save; We soon forgot such piffle and rot in the things we ha to dare. When the luck's gone bad and a man's half mad — wel how should a man behave? It was, "Oh, you stupid Colonial!" And, "Ain't they a lubberly class !" And, "Ain't you been out in the world before? Oh, Lord, but ain't he a beastly bore ! Haw-haw — ^the silly young ass I" When days were good and we felt the blood rise up i our youthful veins, We spoke of rights and we dreamed of fights and w talked to our neighbours then; 68 But you blinked your eye and you heaved a sigh, and jollied us for our pains : "We want no row with our neighbours now !" quoth John — and we lost again! It was, "Oh, you pesky Colonial ! By Jove ! you nervy young cuss ! An* wot would you do, in the nime of me. Or w'ere in 'ell do you think you'd be. My word, if it wasn't for us?" We took a hand, in a foreign land, at settlin' dust that rose, When a poor old cuss built much like us spoke up when times were bad; With Buller and Bobs in a few odd jobs we peppered old John Bull's foes. And when we'd won and the jobs were done, we told of the fun we'd had ! It was "Good, you plucky Colonial ! But 'urry back 'ome, old chap! Oh, you're all right in your own small way, But take it from us, you've a lot to say — Be quiet and take a nap!" We've had to learn, but we'll take our turn — and never a word to say; We've given you men and striven again — and Tommy knows how we stood! 'Twas a blitherin' Hun that started the fun, but well make the bounder pay — So here's to the Land of the Helpin' Hand — and here's to the Lion*s Brood ! And it's "Oh, you fightin' Colonial!" And, "Blimc, you've grown a lot! We ain't got nothin' at all on you — But you're goin' to stay till the fightin's through, Ain't you, old top, eh, what !" 69 HIS INSPIRATION One face he met — one in a seething throng; One form divine moved to him from the street; And for a space, a little space, along The great, lone highway of his life his feet Fell lightlier on the path, his halting note Broke into lilting melodies that fell On wondering ears, and in the verse he wrote Beat the sweet cadence of a silver bell. One face he met, one form divine, and then, Bold and unbeaten, with a nerve of steel, He took a man's place in a world of men, Sharing the day's return of woe or weal. But once — and for a very little space! And where the mad battalions shocked at night, He caught the vision of a perfect face Above the lines — and leaped into the fight! 70 CHRIST IN FLANDERS But once across the field of blood, In the black silence of an awful night, A voice moved from the shaken wood Where all day long the sudden flame Had started from the tubes of death; But once it moved — and with his last sweet breath One who had fallen in the day's mad fight Whispered a sacred name! It breathed above the sodden trench Where the grey figures in the moving breeze, Hot-heavy with the growing stench, Kept silent watch before their dead ; And on the worn, fight-wearied brain There broke a sweet dream of a flowered plain With violet scent and balmy breath of trees And daisies in the mead ! The watcher in the living gloom Where shifting shadows trick the heavy eye And monsters in the darkness loom. Heard once, but once, that moving voice; And on his soul the vision came — He heard a child-tongue faintly lisp his name, He saw his own sweet children trooping by Singing, **Oh, world, rejoice!" But once across that field of blood, In the black silence of that awful night, From out the hot shell-shattered wood It came, or seemed to come, and fell Like a sweet dream of perfect love Shed on a perfect soul ; and from above Upon the field was shed so much of light That men forgot their Hell ! 71 THE- MONUMENT She: stood in a city square ; Haggard she was, and worn and pale, A thing of pity who once was fair ; Weeping about her, her children stood, Voicing their wants in mournful wail- Fatherless, homeless, starveling brood! Above her an image of stone. Stolid and chill, with rayless eyes Looked down on the woman wan and lone — Symbol of honour and vaunted deed Such as a king triumphant buys. Paying his price in hearts that bleed ! A poet who saw the two from afar Looked and passed and wondered alone Which was the symbol of savage war — Woman and brood, or image of stone ! 72 THANKSGIVING A WAR-LORD sat in his place apart And smiled to himself in his ease ; The struggle was over, the victory bought, The guns were all silent, the battles all fought, And he felt of himself in his pride, and he thought, "I have lengthened my shores — I have widened my seas !" And he thanked his good God front his heart, A woman sat in her place apart And sobbed in her sorrow alone ; The men of the town had come home from the fray — Not all of the men — it is ever the way; And she mused to herself in the gloom of her day, "I have still got my soul — I will keep it my own !" And the good God thanked her from his heart! 73 PREMONITION Thr^^ lilies grew in a garden nook As pure as the sunshine steeped in dew, Or as beams that fall on a babbling brook A-ripple with rhyme the glad day through; But I dreamed that one of the lilies drooped In the cruel sun at the height of day, And I saw a stranger who came and stooped And plucked the lily and took it away. Three sisters paused in their evening walk To love three lilies a-nod nearby; And one of them took from a withered stalk A faded lily about to die ; Just yestereve we were sisters three, But to-night we are two and must weep alone ; And a memory burns in the heart of me Of a dream and a beautiful face that's gone. 74 A WOMAN'S SONG HEAR the song that a zvoman sings All day long, though the deep night brings Hunger of heart and madness of brain, Day-hours of loneliness, night-hours of pain, For him who will never come home again, I Red as the low sun in an August sky When lights are fading where the meadows lie, Where all day long the men make hay — So red the rose beside the way! II Red as the crimson of the fragrant leaves Full-mantled where the magic Craftsman weaves His colours smitten through with fire — So red the blood where pierced the briar! Ill Red as the leaping blood of full-flood youth Ecstatic with the first impulse of truth, Seeing the heaven it hopes to gain — So red the lips that smiled at pain! This the song that a woman sings, — This her challenge to high-born kings, Dauntless still though she weeps alone, Dreaming her dream of a day that is gone — Singing her song till the day is done. 75 THE HUMAN CHRIST Long, long ago, dear Christ, when Thou did'st lie, And smiling upward in Thy mother's face, Pressed closer to her breast to feel the warmth Of motherhood, I wonder if the grace That heaven gave Thee hid from her the glow That every tender mother yearns to know. I wonder if upon Thine infant brow The dignity of heav'n so strangely lay, That to her eager heart there came no joy At seeing, as she watched Thee day by day, The sweet dependence of the child she bore That makes the tender mother cherish more. Oh, Christ, unknown to Thee while Thou did'st sleep, She bowed and with her fingers touched Thy head, And from her soft eyes as she kissed Thee, fell The burning tears that only mothers shed. And Thou, Christ, equally with us art blest. That, next to God, Thy mother loved Thee best. 76 THE LAST REST When I've fought my last grim battle, When Fve stormed my last red hill, When the maxim's stormy rattle And the big gun's boom is still ; When my last big push is over And I drop where old pals lie In a ragged shell-hole's cover, And I grip old hands — and die; Lay me where old friends that proved me, On the field in days a-gone, Staunch old friends of mine who loved me. Wait their Captain's call at Dawn ; Range us for our lazy slumber In one billet as of yore. Where no stubborn cares encumber While we dream our battles o'er. Seek the breezes of the Westland Where they wait beyond the sea. Breezes from the last, the best land. Land of Youth so dear to me! Lade them with old dreams of childhood, Wild perfumes of prairie flowers, Scent of pine-trees in the wildwood New-distilled from summer showers; Seek them when the year is falling, When the grey clouds top the height, When the lone wild-goose is calling Where he passes in the night ; When the long fields gleam with yellow, Ere the thresher's hum has ceased. When the harvest fruits hang mellow In the orchards of the East ; n Seek them where the old white wizard Puts the lakes in icy chains, Where the southward driven blizzard In its fury whips the plains; Lade the blasts with winter's howling Where the northern ghost-lights play, And the lone coyote goes prowling In the moonlight for its prey ; Seek them still upon the Maytime, In the first new flush of Spring, When the wild birds flood the daytime With their ceaseless carolling; Seek them when the saps are streaming And the warm sun wakes the rills, When the crocus-cups are dreaming Furry-purpled on the hills ; Seek them, lade them, slip the tether, Send them out across the sea, Show them where we lie together. Friends of mine who fell with me; We would have them ever lending Charm to dreams that never fail Where the homing souls are wending Far a-down the Great White Trail ! 78 HOME! (A French peasant returns to his former home in a district evacuated by the Germans.) See, yonder lies the place, below the hill — That broken thing — that shattered four-square pile Of tumbled ruin by the little stream — That crazy, shapeless thing that makes me smile To find it thus, and think we called it home ! Smile ? Yes, why not ? Smile or go raving mad ! To think that once within those crumpled walls The ceaseless chatter of a little lad, Our little Pierre drew words of stern rebuke That brought him always in a flood of tears To mbre Marie, my woman. On the right. There where that bit of tottering front appears Just waiting to come down, once grew a vine Full-leaved and heavy green; and just above, Where the white light comes through, my little Pierre Made, when he grew, a place to keep his dove When it was moulting. Once, within a room That lay behind yon window near the eaves I waited through a long hot night in June Till the pale dawn came through the fluttering leaves That made a frame about the little square — Waited and watched the long slow hours creep by— And heard, midway between the passing night And coming day, the first faint muflled cry Of a child new-bom and took the drooping hand Of my Marie and told her all was well. 79 Then came a day when the bright August sky Darkened at once, and broke like a screaming hell Straight from the clouds at midday! Then for days- Long lines of weeping women, cursing men, And weary children who could cry no more For utter weariness ! And now again I stand alone ! The quiet has come down — And such a quiet — God! Or have I come A dead man to the skirts of some strange hell? Christ, there's a joke for you — I have come home! 80 THE RIVULET A sTRKAMT^ivT on the mountain's crest Saw from afar the ocean's breast, And sprang for joy that it might run Beneath the blue sky and the sun Straight to its far-off rest. But half a leap, its will denied, A club-moss turned its course aside; A root once tripped it, but it fled The faster, and in running spread Its laughter far and wide And then a rock cried, "Halt, what speed?" And on one side a saucy reed Put forth an arm to hold him back; He slyly took another track, Nor paid them any heed. And once, at night, quite lost was he, Nor could he guess where he might be; But slowly he climbed up a steep, And from a hill-top, with one leap, He found the great, wide sea! 81 6 F.M. THE POTTER I i^ouND the Potter in his shop ; all round The vessels stood fresh from the hand That fashioned them; some lay upon the ground In fragments, for the mind that planned And shaped them from the shapeless clay could brook No imperfection ; from the door That let the afternoon in we could look Out on the city where the roar Of busy markets vexed the day. And then — Sudden there came a bugle blast, A roll of drums, a sound of marching men! And straight the long files hurried past! Ceased then the roar of markets, and instead The sullen distant roar of guns; And all night long came straggling men that bled, The shattered fragments of a nation's sons. And when the day came with its weight of care Upward I clomb the narrow way To where the hill's brow topped the town — and there I found the Potter at his clay. I spoke. "All night, my friend, has come the sound Of battle crashing through the gloom; Of heaven-splitting thunders, and around Broke from the hills the voice of doom! All night — and now, adown the dusty way, The drooping broken line of men, And women weeping in the city! Say, Doth God desfroy the world again?" He showed me broken vessels, row on row; Then led me to a room where stood A perfect urn, sun-bathed in glory. "Lo!" Cried he. "Through pain — ^to perfect good!" 82 THE DEATH OF FANCY Is this the place, then ? Did I come But yestereve and stand tip-toe With breath indrawn to catch the hum Of drowsy Nature crooning low? And oh, what lullabies she sang! Just yonder, where the waters gleam, I saw the willow leaf -tips hang Like slender fingers in the stream, And dip and lift and dip again In music sweet, as liquid beads Slipped back like drops of diamond rain And lost themselves among the reeds. What strange, mysterious lights were shed From bubbles floating on the stream! What shadows moved with elfin tread. Dim shapes that fluttered in a dream! A dragon-fly among the sedge, An evening bird-song chirruped o'er, A dead leaf at the water's edge Moored like a shallop to the shore; A sylvan breath of sweetened air And purple shadows, soft and cool. On deep still waters, sleeping where The day is mirrored in a pool — Oh, whither has the wonder fled That once was here? Is there no shore, No glade where mystery is bred? And shall I never feel It more? 83 SECRETS Re:d rose, whence came this passion-flame That burns so deep in thee? "A maiden stooped to breathe my name, And touched her lips to me!'' II Fair lily, whence the purity? Whence came thy robe of white? "A maiden's finger-tips touched me. And I am clothed in light V III Whence came the secret of thy charms, Sweet maid? Who gave it thee? 'Xove took me in his folded arms. And whispered it to me !" 84 AFTER STRIFE I WONDKR if they ever dream Beneath yon silent hill Where every face is white in sleep And every heart is still. For if they do — ah, if they do — And I come there to dream, I want to dream about a hut That stands beside a stream ; A little hut, a little stream, A little hill hard by, A smoky bed of smouldering coals Where blackened embers lie; Four little walls of dove-tailed pines, A sodden roof, a floor Of mouldy earth where sunlight falls A-slant through open door; A little path that angling runs To where the trail comes down Across the bills from Far Away, Where men have built a town; A little trail where strangers pass And bid the time of day, Or pause a while to fill a pipe And rest beside the way. Let others dream — if dream they must- Of mansions yet to be; A hut, a stream, a hill, a trail — Dear God, give these to me I 85 Warwick Bro's & Rutter, I^imited, Printers and Bookbinders, Toronto, Canada. / UC BERKELEV LIBRARIES CD31fl7Da5D 1 1 1 |jii jiffi Iffi mm is B B 11