P. R. Chalmers

“ Chasing the blade!
For on a royal day
Lost in the years
Chose they the Happy Way—
The way of spears;
Ere Rome's first bastionings
Climbed from the sods
In the old East were kings
Warring with gods. ”

“ Fan, the hunt terrier, runs with the pack,
A little white bitch with a patch on her back;
She runs with the pack as her ancestors ran—
We're an old-fashioned lot here and breed 'em like Fan;
Round of skull, harsh of coat, game and little and low,
The same as we bred sixty seasons ago.
So she's harder than nails, and she's nothing to learn
From her scarred little snout to her cropped little stern,
And she hops along gaily, in spite of her size,
With twenty-four couples of big badger-pyes:
'Tis slow, but 'tis sure is the old white and grey,
And 'twill sing to a fox for a whole winter day. ”

“ The song of the ravens, "Dead Men's Bones!"
When the last of mankind lie slain
On Armageddon's field,
When the last red west has ta'en
The last day's flaming shield,
There shall sit when time shadows run
(D'you doubt, good Sirs, d'you doubt?)
His last rogue son on an empty gun
To see an old world out;
And he'll croak (as to Robinson, Brown and Jones)
The song of the ravens, "Dead Men's' Bones!" ”

“ The spikéd nuts have fallen and the leaf is dull and dry
Since last I saw a regiment go marching to Versailles;
And what's become of all of those that heard the music play?
They trained them for the Frontier upon an August day ”

“ Beside the misty river?
Or does it, at the year's decline—
As sensible as Proserpine—
When Autumn skies do harden,
Go down and coax the seeds to grow
Till daffodillies stand a-row
And April's in the garden? ”

“ Pale skies and wheeling hawk
And scent of trodden thyme,
Brown butterflies and chalk
And the sheep-bells' chime.
The Grey Men they are old,
Ah, very old they be;
They've stood upside the wold
Since all eternity ”

“ One Wilhelm, sleek in tawny gold of coat,
Most satin-smooth to the caresser's hand.
A velvet mien; an eye of amber, full
Of that which keeps the faith with us for life;
Lover of meal-times; hater of yard-dog strife ”

“ Or keep our weekly Boards
Unhampered by the works of Krupp
And all the Kaiser's swords;
At five o'clock we have our tea
And catch our usual bus—
So thank the Lord for those at sea
Who guard the likes of us. ”

“ That they for hours of ill
Did send, in love, the golden measure,
The honey of their hill.
Gone are the gods? Nay, he who chooses
This morn may lie at ease
And on a hill-side woo the Muses
And hear their honey-bees ”

“ But there was Jules François to make you a song;
He sang them a song, and he fondled his gun,
Though I wouldn't translate it he sang it A1;
His battery thought it A1!
The morning was fresh and the morning was cool
When they stopped in an orchard two miles out of Toul,
And the grey muzzles spat through the grey muzzles' smoke,
And there was Jules François to make you a joke.
To crack his idea of a joke:—
"The road to our Paris 'tis hard as can be ”

“ He'd burn it to sticks.
He'd burn it for ever,
Bells, belfry and vane,
That swallows would never
Come home there again.
He'd hang down their perches
With cannor and gun,
For churches is churches,
And William's a Hun. ”

“ As much the poet as the ploughman—
"Seems kind of lucky here," said I;
"The very ducklings look more downy
Than others do." He grinned: "An' why?
May happen, Sir, we feeds a brownie!
"'There isn't many left,' says you;
As hearts grow hard the breed gets rarer ”

“ The demon says, "Your servant,"
And lets their Lordships know;
A fog's come down off Flanders?
A something showed off Wick?
The captains and commanders
Can speak their Lordships quick.
The demon sits a-waking ”