Part 30

There is a hill in Jewry, Three crosses pierce the sky, On the midmost He is dying To save all those who die,-- A little hill, a kind hill To souls in jeopardy.

Everard Owen

Harrow, December, 1915

THE RETURN

I heard the rumbling guns. I saw the smoke, The unintelligible shock of hosts that still, Far off, unseeing, strove and strove again; And Beauty flying naked down the hill

From morn to eve: and the stern night cried Peace! And shut the strife in darkness: all was still, Then slowly crept a triumph on the dark-- And I heard Beauty singing up the hill.

John Freeman

THE MOBILIZATION IN BRITTANY

It was silent in the street. I did not know until a woman told me, Sobbing over the muslin she sold me. Then I went out and walked to the square And saw a few dazed people standing there.

And then the drums beat, the drums beat! O then the drums beat! And hurrying, stumbling through the street Came the hurrying stumbling feet. O I have heard the drums beat For war! I have heard the townsfolk come, I have heard the roll and thunder of the nearest drum As the drummer stopped and cried, "Hear! Be strong! The summons comes! Prepare!" Closing he prayed us to be calm....

And there was calm in my heart of the desert, of the dead sea, Of vast plains of the West before the coming storm, And there was calm in their eyes like the last calm that shall be.

And then the drum beat, The fatal drum, beat, And the drummer marched through the street And down to another square, And the drummer above took up the beat And sent it onward where Huddled, we stood and heard the drums roll, And then a bell began to toll.

O I have heard the thunder of drums Crashing into simple poor homes. I have heard the drums roll "Farewell!" I have heard the tolling cathedral bell. Will it ever peal again? Shall I ever smile or feel again? What was joy? What was pain?

For I have heard the drums beat, I have seen the drummer striding from street to street, Crying, "Be strong! Hear what I must tell!" While the drums roared and rolled and beat For war!

Last night the men of this region were leaving. Now they are far. Rough and strong they are, proud and gay they are. So this is the way of war....

The train was full and we all shouted as it pulled away. They sang an old war-song, they were true to themselves, they were gay! We might have thought they were going for a holiday--

Except for something in the air, Except for the weeping of the ruddy old women of Finistère. The younger women do not weep. They dream and stare.

They seem to be walking in dreams. They seem not to know It is their homes, their happiness, vanishing so. (Every strong man between twenty and forty must go.)

They sang an old war-song. I have heard it often in other days, But never before when War was walking the world's highways. They sang, they shouted, the Marseillaise!

The train went and another has gone, but none, coming, has brought word. Though you may know, you, out in the world, we have not heard, We are not sure that the great battalions have stirred--

Except for something, something in the air, Except for the weeping of the wild old women of Finistère. How long will the others dream and stare?

The train went. The strong men of this region are all away, afar. Rough and strong they are, proud and gay they are. So this is the way of war....

Grace Fallow Norton

THE TOY BAND

(A SONG OF THE GREAT RETREAT)

Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town, Lights out and never a glint o' moon: Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down, Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon. "Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again, Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle, Come, boys, come! You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again, Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!

"Hey, but here's a toy shop, here's a drum for me, Penny whistles too to play the tune! Half a thousand dead men soon shall hear and see We're a band!" said the weary big Dragoon. "Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again, Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come! You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again, Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!"

Cheerly goes the dark road, cheerly goes the night, Cheerly goes the blood to keep the beat: Half a thousand dead men marching on to fight With a little penny drum to lift their feet. Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again, Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come! You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again, Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!