A Treasury of War Poetry Part 2

Bind her, grind her, burn her with fire, Cast her ashes into the sea,-- She shall escape, she shall aspire, She shall arise to make men free: She shall arise in a sacred scorn, Lighting the lives that are yet unborn; Spirit supernal, Splendour eternal, ENGLAND!

_Helen Gray Cone_

AT ST. PAUL'S

APRIL 20, 1917

Not since Wren's Dome has whispered with man's prayer Have angels leaned to wonder out of Heaven At such uprush of intercession given, Here where to-day one soul two nations share, And with accord send up thro' trembling air Their vows to strive as Honour ne'er has striven Till back to h.e.l.l the Lords of h.e.l.l are driven, And Life and Peace again shall flourish fair.

This is the day of conscience high-enthroned, The day when East is West and West is East To strike for human Love and Freedom's word Against foul wrong that cannot be atoned; To-day is hope of brotherhood's bond increased, And Christ, not Odin, is acclaimed the Lord.

_Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley_

JIMMY DOANE

Often I think of you, Jimmy Doane,-- You who, light-heartedly, came to my house Three autumns, to shoot and to eat a grouse!

As I sat apart in this quiet room, My mind was full of the horror of war And not with the hope of a visitor.

I had dined on food that had lost its taste; My soul was cold and I wished you were here,-- When, all in a moment, I knew you were near.

Placing that chair where you used to sit, I looked at my book:--Three years to-day Since you laughed in that seat and I heard you say--

"My country is with you, whatever befall: America--Britain--these two are akin In courage and honour; they underpin

"The rights of Mankind!" Then you grasped my hand With a brotherly grip, and you made me feel Something that Time would surely reveal.

You were comely and tall; you had corded arms, And sympathy's grace with your strength was blent; You were generous, clever, and confident.

There was that in your hopes which uncountable lives Have perished to make; your heart was fulfilled With the breath of G.o.d that can never be stilled.

A living symbol of power, you talked Of the work to do in the world to make Life beautiful: yes, and my heartstrings ache

To think how you, at the stroke of War, Chose that your steadfast soul should fly With the eagles of France as their proud ally.

You were America's self, dear lad-- The first swift son of your bright, free land To heed the call of the Inner Command--

To image its spirit in such rare deeds As braced the valour of France, who knows That the heart of America thrills with her woes.

For a little leaven leavens the whole!

Mostly we find, when we trouble to seek The soul of a people, that some unique,

Brave man is its flower and symbol, who Makes bold to utter the words that choke The throats of feebler, timider folk.

You flew for the western eagle--and fell Doing great things for your country's pride: For the beauty and peace of life you died.

Britain and France have shrined in their souls Your memory; yes, and for ever you share Their love with their perished lords of the air.

Invisible now, in that empty seat, You sit, who came through the clouds to me, Swift as a message from over the sea.

My house is always open to you: Dear spirit, come often and you will find Welcome, where mind can foregather with mind!

And may we sit together one day Quietly here, when a word is said To bring new gladness unto our dead,

Knowing your dream is a dream no more; And seeing on some momentous pact Your vision upbuilt as a deathless fact.

_Rowland Thirlmere_

PRINCETON, MAY, 1917

_Here Freedom stood by slaughtered friend and foe, And, ere the wrath paled or that sunset died, Looked through the ages; then, with eyes aglow, Laid them to wait that future, side by side._

(Lines for a monument to the American and British soldiers of the Revolutionary War who fell on the Princeton battlefield and were buried in one grave.)

Now lamp-lit gardens in the blue dusk shine Through dogwood, red and white; And round the gray quadrangles, line by line, The windows fill with light, Where Princeton calls to Magdalen, tower to tower, Twin lanthorns of the law; And those cream-white magnolia boughs embower The halls of "Old Na.s.sau."

The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side Where redcoats used to pa.s.s; And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died, And violets dusk the gra.s.s, By Stony Brook that ran so red of old, But sings of friendship now, To feed the old enemy's harvest fifty-fold The green earth takes the plow.

Through this May night, if one great ghost should stray With deep remembering eyes, Where that old meadow of battle smiles away Its blood-stained memories, If Washington should walk, where friend and foe Sleep and forget the past, Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know Their souls are linked at last.

Be sure he waits, in shadowy buff and blue, Where those dim lilacs wave.

He bends his head to bless, as dreams come true, The promise of that grave; Then, with a vaster hope than thought can scan, Touching his ancient sword, Prays for that mightier realm of G.o.d in man: "Hasten thy kingdom, Lord.

"Land of our hope, land of the singing stars, Type of the world to be, The vision of a world set free from wars Takes life, takes form from thee; Where all the jarring nations of this earth, Beneath the all-blessing sun, Bring the new music of mankind to birth, And make the whole world one."

And those old comrades rise around him there, Old foemen, side by side, With eyes like stars upon the brave night air, And young as when they died, To hear your bells, O beautiful Princeton towers, Ring for the world's release.

They see you piercing like gray swords through flowers, And smile, from souls at peace.

_Alfred Noyes_

THE VIGIL

England! where the sacred flame Burns before the inmost shrine, Where the lips that love thy name Consecrate their hopes and thine, Where the banners of thy dead Weave their shadows overhead, Watch beside thine arms to-night, Pray that G.o.d defend the Right.