H. De Vere Stacpoole,
The Drums of War
“ Dreams we are the forest's breathWaking to the touch of day;Recks not 'tis the horn of DeathDying in the distance grey.Hound and horn give voice and tongue—— And through it all the horn, now clear and ringing, now caught and dying in the echoes of the forest, now lost in the echoes of the Brocken, the wild notes flying before the phantom of the flying stag; ever the horn threading the gushing music of the violins, the voices of the musicians, and the chorus of the jägers. ”
