iR VOIC SCOLLARD WAR VOICES AND MEMORIES WAR VOICES AND MEMORIES BEING VERSES WRITTEN DURING THE YEARS NINETEEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN AND NINETEEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN BY CLINTON SCOLLARD NEW YORK JAMES T. WHITE AND COMPANY MCMXX Copyright 1919 BY JAMES T. WHITE AND COMPANY CONTENTS AMERICA PAGE The Song Valiant 13 The Vision ........... 14 After Many Days . 15 Shoulder to Shoulder 16 Marching Song 17 What is the Word of the Lord ...... 18 Tramp! Tramp! 19 Have You Done Your Bit 20 A Ballad of Halloween 22 The Man in the Tree ......... 25 An American Marine 26 The First Shell ...... 28 These Are Grave Hours 30 The First Three ,. . . 31 A May Evening . . 32 At the Verge of the Year ....... 33 Tolerance . . . . . . . . ,. . . ; ., 34 No Man s Land . . . 35 Butterflies ,. ,. . ... ... 36 In June 37 A Summer Dawn . . 38 PAGE Those Who Return . 39 Memories . . .40 Immortals . . . . . . . . ... . 41 The Unreturning 42 FRANCE The Cathedral of Rheims 45 Here Passed the Hun ........ 47 The Cock of Tilloloy 48 Poppies in France . 50 The Path of the Hun . . . . w . - . 51 Henry of Navarre 52 In Picardy . . .. ^ . .53 ITALY To Italy . , < < . 57 High Noon at Salo 58 The Garden 61 The Huns at Padua .......... 62 Italy Triumphant . . . -w . . . . .64 Of Francesco Mario Guardabassi . . . . . 65 Saint Anthony of Padua . . . . . . 67 PALESTINE The Last Crusade 71 Jericho . .-.*... 74 A Syrian Scene .-."... 77 Riding with Allenby 78 MISCELLANEOUS PAOE The House of the Hawk 83 The Armenians . . . ... .... 85 Heine 86 Germania . 87 I Passed from Dream to Dream . . . . .88 The Conquerors 89 The Earth Call 91 Two Constantines 93 Flowers in Brussels . 94 Five and Twenty Valiant Men 95 Once I was envious of the men whose span On studious nights I used to contemplate, Who through fortuitous decrees of fate Lived in the time of the great Corsican. I deemed they dwelt in winged hours, the ban Of dull days not upon them, nor the weight Of small contentions, with the intimate Knowledge of mighty things to sense and scan. But mine imaginings are changed to-day; Vain seems the panorama of the past, The years revolving into darkness whirled; And, clear as in a vision, I forecast That in the future men of us will say They lived at the climacteric of the world! AMERICA THE SONG VALIANT GIVE me to sing a valiant song, I pray, Without a note that shall its cadence mar ; One that shall mount to greet the sun by day, By night the listening star ! A song with courage keyed in every chord, A flaming song to kindle and inspire ; One that shall stir the hearts of men, Lord, With patriotic fire! One to be like a trumpet in the dawn, Or one of sacrifice, should that needs be, If so it lift the soul, and bear it on To heights of victory! [13] THE VISION I HAVE beheld no vision like to this Line upon line, the surge of marching men, Upon their lifted brows the chrismal kiss Of inspiration. Will they come again? Some of them will, although it be with scars, The same bright light within their leveled eyes ; Some of them will not, and the eternal stars Will tell the story of their sacrifice. But I have seen them, splendid, virile, strong ; Yea, I have seen them while my cheeks grew wet, And though the years, the uncertain years, be long, Once having seen them, I shall not forget ! [14] AFTER MANY DAYS IF, feeling that our hands were strong, We have been patient, patient long, And slow to anger when assailed By that insidious, grasping throng Before which half the world has quailed ; If we have seemed too fond of ease Behind our bulwark of the seas, Content while others took the thrust, And bore unheard of agonies, Let us be humble in the dust ! Let us be humble, but no less, Since from our limbs the dull duress Has fallen, and we behold the light, Let us arouse in righteousness, And strike with our embattled might ! Rather on Flemish fields overrun By the massed legions of the Hun Or bravest, dearest blood be shed Than we should fail in duty done, And know our ancient honor dead ! April, 1917. [15] SHOULDER TO SHOULDER SHOULDER to shoulder ! Each man in his place ! Shoulder to shoulder, and right about ! face ! We ve a duty to do ere we grow a day older, And the way we can do it is shoulder to shoulder! Shoulder to shoulder ! Each man in the line ! Shoulder to shoulder ! The Flag for a sign ! Yes, let us not weaken, but let us grow bolder, And rally and sally with "shoulder to shoulder!" Shoulder to shoulder! Each man in his might! Shoulder to shoulder ! We fight for the right ! The land of our love may our courage enfold her! May we work and not shirk for her, shoulder to shoulder ! [16] MARCHING SONG LET us awhile forget the lute and viol, Their tender, low refrains; More fitting far in this, our time of trial, The sterner, graver strains ! There is an hour for brooding upon beauty Beneath calm skies and clear ; There is an hour for sacrificial duty, And, lo, that hour is here! Hark ! tis the bugle resonant and ringing Again and yet again! Let every patriot heart go forward singing With our brave marching men ! [17] WHAT IS THE WORD OF THE LORD WHAT is the word of the Lord veiled in His far blue fastness ? What is the word of the Lord unto our moiety of earth? What is the word of the Lord out of the vague and the vastness? What is His burning word in these days of dolor and dearth? He hath given to us a sword, a falchion to swing and smite with, To smite till it flinch and quail, the dark dread De mon of Wrong; He hath given to us a brand to grip and brandish and fight with, And bidden us go to battle, the song on our lips His song! "On!" is the word of the Lord: " On!" to our girded legions, Whether they tread the land, or venture the paths of the sea; "On!" till the children of earth, aye, its uttermost regions, Be free from the Demon s threat, from the Demon s might be free ! [18] TRAMP! TRAMP! TRAMP ! tramp ! You may hear the beat in the high ways, Hear it at dawn, and in the dusk and the damp ; Aye, you may even hark it resound from the byways- Tramp ! tramp! Whither go they, they that are ours, this legion, Bearing upon their brows such a fearless stamp? Into what unknown, into what untried region ? Tramp ! tramp ! All of them go to look in the eyes of danger ; Courage be unto each as a shining lamp, Though some should find a bourn to which we are stranger ! Tramp ! tramp ! God set a light to guide them back from their march ing, Back from the battle-reek and the cluttered camp, Back to the mother-sky that is over-arching ! Tramp ! tramp ! [19] HAVE YOU DONE YOUR BIT SONS of Freedom, freedom-lovers in our land where all are free, Where upon the hill horizons beacon-fires of Liberty By the hands of hardy yeomen in the years of old were lit, Answer to the Mother s summons: Have you, have you "done your bit?" Have you pledged your bone and sinew, have you pledged your hearts to show In this darkling hour of danger the allegiance that you owe? Or inert, inept, unheeding, do you by your hearth stones sit? Rouse, and let us hear your answer ! Have you, have you "done your bit?" Are the Past s proud days forgotten, days when men were men indeed, And the creed of Faith and Honor triumphed o er the dreams of Greed; When the words of Patrick Henry seemed to each as Holy Writ, And from Lexington to Yorktown every patriot "did his bit!" [20] Tis a glory but to name them, how they burn in memory, Those that with "Old Hickory" battled, or with Lawrence sailed the sea, Down to those that dared with Dewey, and who neither quailed nor quit, But, with fearlessness undaunted, nobly, nobly "did their bit! 7 Sons of Freedom, freedom-lovers, whatsoe er your strain of birth, Native sons or sons adopted from the utmost ends of earth, Hark, America, your Mother, eyes with righteous justice lit, To defend her, to befriend her, bids you rise and "do your bit!" [21] A BALLAD OF HALLOWEEN Now there was one who trod the night Across a tented field ; Above the frosty moon was bright As is a burnished shield. Erect he strode, in martial wise, This wraith come back again, As when he wore the mortal guise Of Baron von Steuben. Although from awe no longer chirred The crickets in the grass, No guardsman spake a challenge word, Nor heard his footsteps pass. At last he reached a peaked tent Wherefrom a form there came Whose stately mien was eloquent With something none may name. In stiff salute they stood there dumb In silent gaze, and then, "Why, Washington, didst bid me come? Asked Baron von Steuben. [221 Well I recall," the General said, "Thine aid when long ago Our shrunken arms were sore bestead Amid the drifted snow. "Once more the battle bruit is on, The fight for Liberty; We struggle toward a newer dawn To make the whole world free. "To win for every man his own, For this we take our stand, Albeit it be against the throne That rules thy Fatherland. "A throne that would mankind enthrall In Force s brutal chains, Where, a grim menace, over all A sanguine despot reigns. Not poor as on a bygone hour Are we ; we ve many a son, And yet we need thine aid and power To weld them into one. "I know I know " the Baron spake, While in his eyes shone pain, "And at thy bidding I will take The old task up again. [23] "Thy foes are mine, whoe er they be; Secure thy cause and right, To smite at banded tyranny That rears its head in might." Once more, once more the grave salute, A wordless space, and lo, Only the guardsman stern and mute At his still sentry-go ! But now amid our gathered host, To shape them fighting men, From post to post there speeds the ghost Of Baron von Steuben. 1917 [24] THE MAN IN THE TREE HAVE you heard how we shattered the lines of the foe When the boys clad in khaki advanced upon Vaux, How we battered the Boches and caused them to flee ? It was through Captain Bradley, the man in the tree ! Where the boughs of a pine bole uprose like a spire, He strung some thin strands of a telephone wire ; Then "Fire!" was the word that he shouted in glee, This gay Captain Bradley, the man in the tree! Though round him the bullets were buzzing like bees, He sat like a soldier who s taking his ease; Now "Right" and now "Left" and now "Center," called he, This blithe Captain Bradley, the main in the tree ! "Come down !" hailed a voice in the heat of the strife. 1 1 Come down ? answered Bradley. * No, not on your life!" And he stuck to his post ; he was deaf to all plea, This gallant young Captain, the man in the tree ! So twas "Boom" and twas "Bang" till the Huns had their fill, And we routed them out from their nests on the hill ; And we marched into Yaux with a stride that was free, Through brave Captain Bradley, the man in the tree ! [25] AN AMERICAN MARINE THE hills of home are lonely, The vales of home are grave, And sad the winding footpaths Beside a cool stream s wave. One who was wont to tread them, In youthful days and hale, Has passed out far beyond them Upon the long, long trail. He might have slept in quiet In the sweet restful earth, After calm days of toiling, Where he had had his birth ; But no ! a voice came calling That would not be denied, His Country s, and he heeded With all a patriot s pride, Just as his sires had heeded In the dark hours of yore When Washington and Lincoln Bade brave men to the fore. [26] He joined the great adventure To make the wide world free Beneath the flag that symbols The light of Liberty. Of that heroic vanguard, Unquailing, he was one Who o er the Marne hurled backward The grim hosts of the Hun. And with the same stanch spirit He struck one last swift blow In those shell-riven thickets, The forest of Belleau. The hills of home are lonely, The vales of home are grave, But he his name is bright on The Roster of the Brave! [27]- THE FIRST SHELL (An American Artillery-Man Speaks) TWAS a long, long hike through the haggard night In the lash of the driven rain, And then there were black and bitter hours In the lurch and grind of a train. And some one laughed and some one chaffed, And some one countered, well, I wonder, boys, where we re going to To what special part of Hell?" Then came a dawn that wasn t a dawn, But an eerie spectral air, A weltering mist that we blundered through To a place in God knows where. There were twenty men and our battery gun, And I was one of the crew; So we limbered her up with her face to the front, And she was a dandy too. We coaxed her along with shove and haul Through the reek of muck and mire, And when we had camouflaged her fine We got her ready to fire. [28] We were out near the edge of No Man s Land Where only a dank wind stirred, And it was just after the stroke of six That we got the Captain s word. A sudden roar and rift in the mist, And wouldn t it have been luck Had bloody old von Hindenberg Been where that first shell struck! [29] THESE ARE GRAVE HOURS THESE are grave hours, and yet we should not brood On peril, rather look it in the face, Abjuring fear, and every lingering trace Of darkening doubt, in an exalted mood. Let us each take new grip on fortitude ; Let us not quail nor flinch, for that were base ; Let us have heart, for we are of a race That against wrong has ever steadfast stood! These are grave hours. Twere futile to deny The threat of Might, and its embattled powers; A dreadful menace looms upon the sky; Nearer and nearer the black shadow towers; Shall we lose faith and trust? Nay, let us cry "Courage!" and "Courage!" during these grave hours. March, 1918. [30] THE FIRST THREE SOMEWHERE in France," upon a brown hillside, They lie, the first of our brave soldiers slain ; Above them flowers, now beaten by the rain, Yet emblematic of the youths who died In their fresh promise. They who, valiant-eyed, Met death unfaltering have not fallen in vain ; Remembrance hallows those who thus attain The final goal ; their names are glorified. Read then the roster ! Gresham ! Enright ! Hay ! No bugle call shall rouse them when the flower Of morning breaks above the hills and dells, For they have grown immortal in an hour, And we who grieve and cherish them would lay Upon their hillside graves our immortelles ! [31] A MAY EVENING I SAW the long fair afternoon decline, And in the amethystine west afar Outgleam the glory of a single star, A peaceful star, it seemed of peace a sign. And at the woodland s edge a voice divine, The thrush, I heard, bar after silver bar Of melting music, with no sound to mar The mounting rapture of one lyric line. And then, and then, imagination wrought A dreadful change, and, lo, mine eyes de scried The battle-stars above the Oise and Somme ; The cannon s awful music boomed and died, And boomed again, and I could think of naught Save the world gripped by War s delirium ! [32] AT THE VERGE OF THE YEAR WAR, like a stark colossus, stands astride The ruinous world, and takes its toll of fate, Mightier than ancient Moloch, puffed with hate, Flaunting the precept of the crucified. The day is darkened, while red furies ride Adown the night, and with men s anguish sate Their bloody lusts, dread, incompassionate, Deaf to the voice of prayer, whate er betide. The shrines of Christ are desecrate, defiled In wantonness, though cries go up to Him, Petitional and praiseful, without cease; What irony ! what mockery ! what grim Apostasy, as though dark Satan smiled, Scorning the spirit of the Prince of Peace ! 1918. [33] TOLERANCE Too long have we been lax and lenient ; We have been patient, though we knew that we Harbored the venomous viper, Treachery, Ready to strike with foul and fell intent. But now the day of tolerance is spent ; Let us have done with sleek hypocrisy, With those who strive to work insidiously ! Be there at last some stern arbitrament ! Kultur s apostles, you who are arrayed With the blasphemous Beast who drew the sword, And slew the innocent the while he prayed, Should on your heads there fall some just reward, Yours is the blame who fatuously have made Your tongue abhorrent and your race abhorred ! [34] NO MAN S LAND "!T is in night that I see No Man s Land!" Thus said the soldier, dreams within his eyes, Dark dreams of horror under moonless skies. "I mark its reaches vague and vast expand, Illimitable as seems the desert sand, "While sudden out of it dim forms arise And disappear, and there are warning cries Ere comes the grisly grapple hand to hand. "The grisly grapple groans and gasping breath Amid the fetid fumes that choke and reek As the hot life blood gushes on the hand ; Then, in the murk, the inscrutable face of Death!" Thus said the soldier, though he scarce could speak ; "It is in night that I see No Man s Land!" [85] BUTTERFLIES ABOUT me loop and dart the butterflies, Like yellow iris petals dowered with wings; Beneath the azure of the summer skies They seem to voyage on blithe adventurings. Now here, now there, on grass or flower a-poise, They linger in their brief uncertain flight, Tasting the fleeting moment s honied joys, And then are gone, are gone into the night. I have read somewhere in an ancient book, The name whereof my memory holds no trace, They are departed souls come back to look On scenes familiar for a little space. Into my heart there creeps this stealthy fear; There will be many butterflies this year ! 1918, [36] IN JUNE THE crimson roses tell me it is June ; I know it by the wind that never grieves, And by the radiant rondure of the moon, And by the emerald shadows of the leaves. The fireflies with their tenuous golden skeins They too reveal it, and the oriole, Flame-breasted, says to me that Junetime reigns By the unburdened rapture of its soul. Yet sometimes I am barren of belief, And whisper to myself it cannot be, With all the nations in the grasp of grief, And all the world so wrenched with agony. June is for joy, yet horror stalks abroad, And he who wrought the crime blasphemes to God. [37] A SUMMER DAWN I BOUSED me with the sun ; the bough tops stirred, Touched by the tender fingers of the breeze, And from a grove I heard a hidden bird Salute the dawn with golden melodies. There was no other sound save chanticleer With his sharp clarion note, although I knew Across the garden paths, in whispers clear, The roses might be talking of the dew. So perfect harmony ushered in the day, And yet my spirit would not be at peace, Sensing demonic echoes far away, Mad murmurs of red conflict without cease The interminable roar of black-mouthed guns Where brave men faced the onset of the Huns. [38] THOSE WHO RETURN THOSE who return from scarred and stricken places, Our men of valor, will they seem the same, Or will they wear on their beloved faces Something inscrutable we may not name? , Will they take up their duties and their pleasures With aims and ardors that they knew of old, Or will they weigh all life with newer measures, And view the past as one a tale long told ? They who have looked into the eyes of dangers Unsensed by us, and which we may not feel, Will they not sometimes be to us as strangers, Holding at heart what they may not reveal? Unchanged, yet changed in this that they have been So near the veil that hides the Great Unseen ! [39] MEMORIES I HAVE a memory of dim twilights gone And the lulled sense of indolent repose, With lilac lights close round about me drawn, And the pervasive attar of the rose. I have a memory of the hermit thrush From some sequestered woodland covert far Poignantly stirring the cool evening hush With its clear anthem to the vesper star. These things once touched my sense of loveliness And made within my mind a harmony ; But now they fail; who could be passionless At the great tidings borne from over sea! In this triumphant hour, this hour supreme, All also seems futile, futile as a dream ! 1918. [40] IMMORTALS BEYOND the lifted barrage He d almost gained his goal, When on far ways eternal Went out his soldier soul. They found in his blouse pocket These words, writ clear to see, "I shall fight on as though all Depended upon me!" But now he has adventured Beyond the utmost star; His is that distant dwelling Where all dead heroes are. Mayhap he looks on Bayard, Marks Roland near him stand; Beholds the smile of Sidney, And clasps him by the hand. For valor calls to valor Across time s furthest span; He is immortal with them, This young American ! [41] THE UNRETURNING FOR us, the dead, though young, For us, who fought and bled, Let a last song be sung, And a last word be said ! Dreams, hopes and high desires, That leaven and uplift, On sacrificial fires We offered as a gift. We gave, and gave our all, In gladness, though in pain; Let not a whisper fall That we have died in vain ! [42] FRANCE THE CATHEDRAL OF RHEIMS BEHOLD the ruin of the shrine of Rheims That War had spared throughout six hundred years ! For Beauty shattered, and Art s loveliest dreams, Ah, shall there not be sorrowing and tears ? And shall there not be execration too, Or is that word too tolerant to tell The eternal obloquy which is the due Of those that wrought the wrong irreparable! Strange is the healing of the hand of Time, One of our life s evasive mysteries; The ages may atone for many a crime, Forgetfulness dim the memory but not this ! Never hereafter, at the daylight s close, "With hues more radiant than the sunset sky, Shall the clerestory s blazing red and rose Uplift the soul in silent ecstasy. Never again the gentle angel s face Look down in all its blest beatitude ; Nor the grave saints, in dignity and grace, Gaze from the portals in benignant mood. [45] Thus let it stand ! Twere futile to restore Lost Beauty, by despoiling hands undone; Thus let it stand, aye, stand forevermore, Symbolic of the kultur of the Hun ! [46] HERE PASSED THE HUN HERE passed the Hun ! Not in the long ago A path more pitiless of scath and woe Blazed Attila beneath the noonday sun Than may be seen to-day where passed the Hun ! Here passed the Hun where the rose-window gleamed Of stately Rheims, and saints in marble dreamed ; Where scholarly Louvain dozed mid its limes, And Termonde bells rang rhythmic vesper chimes ! Here passed the Hun through peaceful Picardy, Spreading his wake of wanton misery Where Noyon walls are toppled stone from stone, And Coucy-le-Chateau lies overthrown! ! Here passed the Hun, and left but death and dearth Where once was life and plenty and blithe mirth ; Here passed the Hun, and wreaked his ruthless wrong Where once were women s smiles and children s song ! \ Here passed the Hun ! His cruelty and crime Are written large upon the Book of Time. Till Time shall cease still will the legend run In those fair ravished lands Here passed the Hun! [47] THE COCK OF TILLOLOY The Daughters of the American Revolution will, after the war, rebuild the village of Tilloloy. The Matin. FOR years unknown the Cock of Tilloloy, Of ancient Tilloloy in Picardy, Stood stanch on guard upon the old church tower, Whirled with the whirling winds, and, many deemed, Sounded a shrill reveille when the morn Flowered in the east like an aerial rose. After a thousand thousand rains and snows Had beaten on it, sanguine battle came And smote the rod which held it. Down it fell, Clashing and clanging on the lichened tiles, And thence to earth. In the diaphanous dusk Of early June, what time it poised and plunged, A Poilu, wandering in the dim church close, Saw the descending vane and caught it up, The ancient iron Cock of Tilloloy. Somehow it seemed a symbol and a sign, And so he bore it with him. At Yerdun, And too upon that red intrenched line Along the Somme, it crowned the barrier, And twas as though it crowed the clarion call To victory, though the shrapnel clipped its comb And rent its slender body. The Poilu, [48] Fain of his furlough after days that reeked With shock and slaughter, took the battered Cock, The ancient iron Cock of Tilloloy, And hid it. Now that kindly hearts and hands, Hearts wherein burn the flame of love for France, Are to remould and fashion wall and tower, Again upon the crest the valiant vane, Unvanquished by the onset of the Huns, In reverence raised from its safe hiding place, Will greet the morning as in elder time When winds of Peace blew over Tilloloy. Such is our dream and may the dream come true! [49] POPPIES IN FRANCE I CAN recall when summer hazed The sky, and all seemed in a trance, How the bright poppies burned and blazed Across the rolling fields of France. They made a glory of Champaigne, Wave after wave of harmony; They spread a cloth of crimson stain On many a field in Picardy. Again the poppy blooms are fair Beneath the summer s haze-hung sky, But now (0 poignant sorrow!) there Than theirs behold a deeper dye ! [50] THE PATH OF THE HUN ONLY a ravaged garth Where the grass runs wild, And an old bent woman there With a little child. Only a shattered tower Bereft of its bells, Where, with its sealed lips, Gray silence dwells. Only a fresh-heaped mound With its grim pathos, And a tilted soldier s cap On a wooden cross. Only the creeping wind And the shrouded sun ; Only the pale gloom ; this Was the path of Hun! [51] HENRY OF NAVARRE Now that the clouds of battle loom Above the fair French fields in bloom Along the front of War, Come, spirit of the spotless plume, Brave Henry of Navarre! Against the serried lines arrayed, Your valiant kinsmen need your aid ; Let, like a flashing star, Gleam once again your fearless blade, Brave Henry of Navarre! From realms remote we may not see, Lest lost be light and Liberty, Return, where er you are, Return, and lead to victory, Brave Henry of Navarre ! [52] IN PICARDY IN Picardy, in Picardy, If I dare look mine eyes must see A nameless horror now; And yet a bird with folded wings Within a treetop sings and sings Upon a blackened bough. It sings and sings, with folded wings, Of coming springs, of happier springs, That shall be not as now, "When life and love again shall be In Picardy, in Picardy, Beneath the leafy bough! [53] ITALY TO ITALY WE who have loved you long and loved you well, Symbol of Beauty, prototype of Art, Treasuring within the holies of your heart Forevermore the ancient sibyl spell, Would fain acclaim you, hail you, fain would dwell Upon your lofty and heroic part Gainst those dark powers that aim to change the chart Of all the world, with force intolerable ! Now in your hour of bitterness and need Our hopes and prayers are with you. May the old Spirit of Roman valor stir your lines Firmly against the Vandal hordes to hold, While to your aid the spectral legions speed North with the wind across the Apennines ! [57] HIGH NOON AT SALO OVER the roofs of Salo the high noon, And all the air aswoon, The amber air that ripens the round grapes Within Lake Garda s coves and on its capes. The gossips drowsy; in the little square Where the facade of Santa Maria towers, And where its bells mark off the gliding hours, A group of lads in frolic; sun-brown hair, And sun-brown faces, limbs, and sun-brown feet, And laughing lips without a hint of care ; Then I, a wanderer, strolling up the street, And chancing on them there. One youth, the one most fleet, Pounces upon me, clutches at my coat. "Signore, come! Signore, come!" he cries, An eager light within his up-raised eyes, Eyes like deep purple shades when daylight dies, * Come, and see Santa Maria ! * Who could say To this persuasive cicerone, Nay ! And mar the liquid note Of his entreatment? So he led the way, [58] Lifting the leathern curtain at the door With all the sylvan grace of a young faun. Gone, on a sudden, the day s radiance, gone The heaviness of heat; Within was twilight, faint and cool and sweet, And a great silence wherethrough, presently, Broke a clear voice, the lad s. It seemed to me As mellow as an organ; yea, it grew As rapture does in music from the thin And mounting treble of the violin (That had its birth in Salo) to the deep Reverent prof undo of a cello chord; He knew each shrine and altar, and he knew Every madonna draped in lovely hue (The Divine Shepherd caring for His sheep), And every saint that worshipped the young Lord. At last we passed again into the light, The quiet old piazza, dazzling bright; And with obeisance suave For what I gave, " Addio! grazie! grazie!" said he, Shyly and smilingly. Since then, that noon in Salo, the fleet years Have slipt, on swallow flight, Into the past s inevitable night, But still upon mine ears Falls the boy s golden voice; Still can I see his face, [59] With all its glamour and with all its grace, And well I know that he has made his choice. Somewhere on the Piave line his cries In exultation rise "Viva Italia!" Such souls as he In the red stress of conflict do not fail; And though he kiss the Grail, His sacrifice will be For freedom, and so here I bid him hail ; Hail unto him, and hail to Italy ! [60] THE GARDEN How fair the garden in the mid-day glow, With all its smoothly swarded terraces, Down sloping to the placid pool below, Dotted with lilies, girt with aspen trees ! Tis like a memory out of Italy, For there are marbles wreathed with ivy there, Pan with his goat hoofs, mouth awry with glee, And Daphne with the laurel in her hair. And over all a sky that wears the blue And gold of skies that arch the Apennines, And a light breeze that lingeringly steals through Like that which stirs the tops of Eoman pines. Yet what a contrast! Here no threat awaits, While Italy has the Hun within her gates. [61] THE HUNS AT PADUA IN days still vivid and golden I recall How twilight shadows fell on dome and wall In Padua. How San Andrea s chimes Floated above the rooftops, and how all Was peace and beauty. Through the o erhanging limes Girdling the Prato fleeting laughter stirred From wandering lovers and from bough and bird. Brighter the lights in vast II Santo s aisles Shone in the deepening gloaming, and the crowd, Passing from worship through the long arcades, Chattered as children chatter, gay with smiles, Drawn by clear strains that echoed low or loud From the bedecked Piazza of Cavour, For here when droop the violet evening shades Music ascends with all its lovely lure. How magical it seemed! how magic yet The tall towered city in its gardens set, Wrapt round about with olden memories Thick as the vines that clothe its mulberry trees; The house where Dante dwelt through hours of gloom, Whose narrow windows look upon the tomb Of Antenor ; the grassed Arena space j [62] The Loggia s inimitable grace; The wondrous statue Donatello wrought, And the adoring mediaeval thought Perpetuate upon canvas virgin, saint, Such as the hand of Titian loved to paint, Such as Bellini and Mantegna limned, By the erasing centuries undimmed. Long, long aforetime underneath the yoke Of one whose name is linked with cruelty, In woe and terror lived the Paduan folk, And Ezzelino, called "the Devil," he! Search history s page and you will find than his No darker, bloodier atrocities; Shuddering along the streets the people trod, Calling in vain upon the aid of God; In vain? but nay! One heard them as they cried. The Fiend was driven forth. By Brenta s side, Bound to a stake, he gnawed his wounds and died. In Paduan ways do they not think once more His spirit comes from the abyss of night, Clad in the Hun s habiliments of fright, Bearing a newer horror, and, as of yore, From this satanic thing do they not pray For swift release, for retribution? Yea! And we would cry with them "God speed the day!" [63] ITALY TRIUMPHANT I CAN see how the beacons burned On the hills of Italy; How the news was told in flames of gold That the land from the foe was free ! How the joy-light leaped from peak to peak Away and yet away From the snowy heights of the Dolomites To far Tarentum bay. And I can hear how cheer on cheer "Went up from that stately square Where fair Milan s cathedral towers Like flowers lift up in air; The triumph notes from exultant throats In Florence I can divine, And how the shouts from the Corso swept To the crest of the Palatine. Ah, never again on plateau or plain The Austrian and the Hun! Untroubled now to seek the main Piave s waters run; From a galling yoke a gallant folk Redeemed and glad and free, With queenly Venice looking out Across her sunrise sea! [64] OF FRANCESCO MARIO GUARDABASSI IN the olden days and spacious, We have read how brave Horatius Held a bridge-head of the Tiber when the Etruscans threatened Rome; Hear how Captain Guardabassi, Tall and muscular and massy, Held the bridge at Latisana from the dawning to the gloam. When his countrymen were driven From the Carso, rent and riven, Back upon the Tagliamento, rose amid the ranks a shout ; Swelled like hiving bees a-humming, " Austrian cavalry are coming!" There was peril of a panic ; there was danger of a rout. Then the gallant grenadier, he A Perugian stanch and cheery, Faced the streaming troops that jostled at the tidings they had heard ; "Hold!" he cried; "and hark to reason! There is treachery ; there is treason ; For the Austrians are not coming ! and they halted at his word. [65] Then with other souls undaunted, How he flouted, how he flaunted At the faltering and fearsome, with his scornful eyes ashine ! How he stood and stemmed and stormed them Till he rallied and reformed them, And they marched in steady columns to the safe Piave. line! So, masterful Mario, Ere we say to you addio, Take the guerdon of these plaudits wheresoever you may be ! Your indomitable deed there, In the vital hour of need there, Shows the stirring verve and valor in the heart of Italy. October, 1917. [66] SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA I HAD a vision of Saint Anthony At hush of midnight rising from his tomb In domed II Santo where, amid the gloom, The tapers wavered faint and fitfully. Not in his saintly raiment robed was he, But bright in burnished mail and knightly plume, Like some old warrior daring the dark doom Of death, with face set toward eternity. A spectral steed awaited at the door; Swiftly he mounted and as swiftly whirled Out of the Paduan gates across the plain. The soldiers heard the burning words he bore In dreams, and, wakening, back the Huns they hurled Where the Piave murmurs toward the main. [67] PALESTINE THE LAST CRUSADE IN the dusk of the vanished ages we read how it came to pass That a man called Peter the Hermit rode through France on an ass, Preaching to Princes and people from the dawn to the even gloam The word of Heaven as spoken by the lips of the Pope of Home. "God commands!" and the edict was met as with one accord ; "We must save the Holy City from the grip of the foes of the Lord!" Pilgrim and palmer heard it, and potentates and Kings Rose up and gathered about them their feudal follow- ings; Then they marched by the land in legions, and they sailed in hosts by the sea, Godfrey and Baldwin and Tancred, and Robert of Normandy. [71] While many drooped by the wayside, and knights and their squires were slain, The Cross still urged them onward as they saw the Crescent wane, Till at last pealed the triumph trumpet, the day of their victory came, When they hewed through lanes of slaughter to the church of the Holy Name. Red were the years thereafter, as red as the crimson fire Flushing the sunset surges that break on the reefs of Tyre. Ever and ever the onset, ever the sanguine shock Rocking the plains of Acre, shattering Antioch! Saladin bearing the Crescent, master of warlike art ; Holding the Cross before him, Richard the Lion Heart ! Shaken the walls of Zion, the spot that was Judah s crown, While drowned in the blinding welter the staff of the Cross went down Down, and the paynim banner hung until yester-hour Sinister in the sunlight over the Zion tower. [72] Vain were the sacrifices made in the days long gone, The rout on the heights of Hattin, the press at Asca- lon; But now where the solemn cypress guards sad Geth- semane, And over the Mount of Olives silvers the olive tree, Forever and forever, aye, until Time shall cease, Over the walls of Zion may there descend His peace ! Not vain be the sacrifices that man to-day has made ; May this, when the Right shall conquer, may this be the Last Crusade! [73] JERICHO Down down fell the walls of Jericho, Walls they said that would not crumble, Walls they said no hand could humble; the mighty overthrow! Out of the Gilgal brake One, with a flaming sword, Unto Joshua spake, And this was the word : "I am with thee in thy need, Give thee good heed good heed!" Then He of the flaming sword Told Joshua what should be If over the heathen horde He would win the mastery. Tall was Jericho s wall, Cubit on cubit high, A menace to appall Looming against the sky. But with never a sound Save for the rams horns blown (Seven rams horns blown), [74] Round and round and round The battlements of stone The hosts of Israel trod Under the eye of God. Peered the men on the wall, Jeered the men on the wall; With loud idolatrous curses They bade the hosts to quail, Consigning them to the mercies Of Moloch and of Baal ; Yet they still marched round and round In time to the rams horns sound. Until, on the seventh day (Seven spans round and round), A shattering cry Went up to the sky From the lips of that vast array, Drowning the rams horns sound. And down down down Down to the very ground Plunged Jericho s mighty wall ; the thunderous fall, And death to the toppled town! Lend ear ! Give us to hear To-day some word of the Lord ! Is there no flaming sword, [75] No leader to point the way? See where, with embattled bands, Our enemy, Jericho, stands, Not cubits high but wide, In all its arrogant pride ! God, grant to us this boon: Send Thou unto us soon, To ward from the threat and fear, Another Joshua! March, 1918. [76] A SYRIAN SCENE UPON Esdraelon s plain the anemones shimmer Like sunset waves beneath the wind s warm breath ; Above, fair-girt by silvery olives, glimmer The bright white walls and roofs of Nazareth. Nothing to mar the quietude ; unbroken The silence by a sign of strife or stress; p eace brooding peace transcending all ; no token Of aught save beauty, aught save loveliness ! The loveliness of earth and sky o erleaning Of life that lapses with no dream of death; Would the torn world might take to heart the mean ing Of calm Esdraelon and of Nazareth ! [77] RIDING WITH ALLENBY As I dream, it seems to me I have ridden with Alleriby. On a day, in the time long gone, I rode into the heart of the dawn Out of Gaza. My desert steed, Son of a sire of the Nedjid breed, Took the breath of the morning sun With never a pause till we had won er rocky steep and o er sandy swell To the riven House of Gabriel. Then, ere the shut of the eve, we came Where the last red streamers lit with flame The mosque of Hebron set in the vale, With its towering minarets, and its tale Of Isaac s and of Abraham s tomb, Where only the Faithful in the gloom, By the flickering cressets flecked, may fare When the swart muezzin calls to prayer. Thence on to Bethlehem we sped, With the dome of Allah overhead, And not a shred of a cloud in view To blur the breadth of its gold and blue. [78] So he marched, and it seems to me I have ridden with Allenby! Then Jerusalem, and the Hill Of Golgotha, and the sacred, still Church of the Holy Sepulchre ! The Vale and the Mount, and the ceaseless stir Of pilgrim feet where the Christ once strayed, Under the cruel cross down weighed ! I rode by Jenin with its palms Clear cut against the noonday calms. I rode by Nablous, I rode by Nain, And over the wide Esdraelon plain Up the slopes to Nazareth, Where out of the dim bazaars the breath Of the shaven sandalwood was blown. I skirted the snow-crowned mountain zone Of Hermon, and saw the morning star Silver the huts of Kerf Hawar; And then I looked on the lovely loom Of orange, pomegranate and citron bloom (A bower that to the Prophet s eyes Was a prescience of Paradise), And entered Damascus as the sun Peered over the brow of Lebanon. [79] So he marched, and it seems to me I have ridden with Allenby! Never again the Turkish blight On all this land of lure and light ! Never again the Turkish ban From far Beersheba unto Dan This home of holy memories ! Rather the beam of His promised peace, His peace for all men under the sun From Nebo north to Lebanon, His peace through the hand that set them free!- I have ridden with Allenby! [80] MISCELLANEOUS THE HOUSE OF THE HAWK (HAPSBURG) THE House of the Hawk was hung High on a barren crag, And out from its eyrie flung The folds of a taloned flag. Bloody was its brood In that fateful feudal day, And rood upon fertile rood It gripped as its hapless prey. The mills of the gods grind slow, Thus saith the ancient song; But for the high and the low The mills of the gods grind long. The House of the Hawk reached out, Ever reached out afar; It battened on ruin and rout, It fattened on fields of war; It fastened its clutching claws Upon Italy and Spain, And the heart of it knew no laws Save the ruthless laws of gain. [83] But the mills of the gods grind on, Until, or soon or late, In the dusk, or at some red dawn, There falls the sword of Fate. The House of the Hawk behold How it lies for the world to see! The final hour has tolled Of the clock of destiny. Cruelty, arrogance, pride, Scepter and king and crown, Swept by a mighty tide The House of the Hawk goes down ! What of its vaunted power f What of its ancient line f Lo, at the ultimate hour The mills of the gods grind fine! [8*] THE ARMENIANS I HEARD the Armenians speak, Tortured, enslaved and weak; Heard down the wind their wailing and their sighing ; "From the most monstrous wrong Borne by us ages long Save us, a nation dying! 1 In fire, in blood, in shame, The inscrutable years proclaim Our wretched fate; hark to our voices crying For liberty at last! From horrors like the past Save us, a nation dying ! "You that are strong and free As the unfettered sea, List to our plea ! we yearn for your replying ; In this your triumph hour, With your embattled power Save us, a nation dying! "Smite off the intolerable Chains of the hordes of Hell Forevermore! Not vain be our relying On mercy, justice, right! From the dread thralls of Might Save us, a nation dying !" [85] HEINE IN time that now is but a dream, Upon a far off morn, A swift immortal soul of song At Diisseldorf was born. Within him glowed the flaming light That bids mankind be free ; Within him burned the bitter scorn Of kingly tyranny. The ruthless power that bides in thrones Cast out this spirit brave, And he, an exile, dwelt and died Upon his "mattress grave." Ah, Heine, from some unknown bourn It were not ours to blame Shouldst thou come back to execrate The Hohenzollern name! Lest a black legacy of hate Perpetuate should be, A fearless poignant pen like thine Must make thy people see ! [86] GEEMANIA MEDUSA of the nations, see her stand Implacable, detestate, treacherous, base, Without a scruple, and without a trace Of honor, a sword within her murderous hand ! Secret and subtle, now with smilings bland Wreathing the sleek insidiousness of her face, Assassin and despoiler of the race That, saith the Word, the Eternal Master planned ! Shall she debauch the world with her foul creed Of Might transcendent, frightfulness supreme, Her god a god as brutal as was Baal? might we rouse from out this hideous dream To see some Power omnipotent, at our need, Smiting this monster till she cringe and quail ! [87] I PASSED FROM DEEAM TO DREAM I PASSED from dream to dream until I came Unto the portal of a lofty hall ; Within arch rose on arch majestical Whereon was graven many a noble name Wide-blown upon the trumpet lips of fame; And there were stately arms memorial Mid flaunting banners hung upon the wall ; Methought it was a place where bode no shame. Upon a dais, clad in robes of state, Was one stern-browed, inscrutable as fate, Scanning a writing by a golden taper; I read : it seemed a compact of much weight. * What meaneth this ? " I asked of him who sate ; "Pooh!" he replied, " tis ~but a scrap of paper!" [88] THE CONQUERORS I SING the world s great conquerors since the hour When there were vaunting kings in Nineveh, And the proud Pharaohs held imperious power Where Nilus rolls upon its ancient way; Since the dark night of Babylon s dismay ; Since Xerxes down upon the Grecians bore. Slaves to their mad ambitions, where are they ? Lo, they have passed, and will return no more ! I sing the world s great conquerors the flower Of Macedonian monarchs, and the sway Of Hannibal, who caused tall Rome to cower; Cassar, with legions ranged in long array ; The grisly Attila, who made his prey Renowned cities, many a fateful score. Slaves to their mad ambitions, where are thy ? Lo, they have passed, and will return no more ! I sing the world s great conquerors the dower That Timur won through fray on bloody fray ; How Genghis Khan was in his time a tower Of dreaded might, nor spared his hand to slay ; The Man of Destiny, who pined away, An exile upon Saint Helena s shore. Slaves to their mad ambitions, where are they? Lo, they have passed, and will return no more ! [89] Envoy And you toward whom Fate hastens day by day, Kaiser and King, whom we despise, deplore, Slave to your mad ambition, e en as they, You too shall pass, and will return no more ! [90] THE EARTH CALL FAINT and far at first I heard it from the spaces of the dark, When the host of stars assembled in the midnight s mighty arc; Then it mounted with the morning, stirred my mind and bade me hark. And I knew it for the Earth-call from the vital source of things, A reveille to awaken to the hills and vales and springs, And it throbbed and grew in volume like the rushing of great wings. And its word was to the cornlands, and its word was to the wheat; There was warning in its message, there was tremor in its beat ; "See, the children of men suffer, and there must be bread to eat! For the air is filled with rumors, for the air is dark with dread, Where behind War s bloody footsteps lie the windrows of the dead ; And, lest rise a ghastlier terror, those still living must be fed. [91] * Here, on fields unscarred, untrampled, must the fer tile seed be sown; Here, in generous abundance must the harvest yield be grown; Here must be a vaster reaping than the land has ever known. Hence the Earth-call of the Mother to the loam and to the clod, To the tillers and the toilers lest Death smite with deadlier rod; Hence the Earth-call of the Mother, which is but the voice of God!" [92] TWO CONSTANTINES WHEN sore dissension rent the Roman state, After the pagan Diocletian s reign, And legions met and grappled and were slain, And doubtful seemed the mighty empire s fate, To one a cross appeared. He read, elate, "By this sign shalt thou conquer!" Not in vain He raised His glorious standard without stain ; To-day men name him Const antine the Great! Lo, now another, a foiled, futile thing, A puppet, but the shadow of a king, Conniving, paltering, plotting to his fall ; Blind to all honor and all sense of shame, How shall the Muse of History write his name ? He shall be ever Const antine the Small! [93] FLOWERS IN BRUSSELS 1885-1918 TO ROBERT LIVINSTONE MASSONNEAU I WONDER if remembrance be as kind To you as tis to me ? If you recall A noon in Brussels, blue skies over all, And down the stately streets a crooning wind ; And how the crowded market-ways were lined With banks of flowers upheaped in booth and stall ; And how joy soared as though a festival, Some fair commemoration were designed? I can but wish, old friend, that you and I, A few days gone, again might have been there To see the city s glorious triumphing After the months of dolor and despair ! Would we not too have shouted * Victory, And flung our flowers and greetings to the king ! [94] FIVE AND TWENTY VALIANT MEN FIVE and twenty valiant men Marching to the wars, And though their feet were on the earth Their heads were in the stars. Five and twenty valiant men Who have done with wars, And though their bodies rest in earth Their souls are in the stars! [95] Not with the high-voiced fife, Nor with the deep-voiced drum, To mark the end of strife The perfect Peace shall come. Nor pomp nor pageant grand Shall bring War s blest surcease, But, silent, from God s hand Shall come the perfect Peace! [96] U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES LIBRARY i t l