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+The Project Gutenberg E-text of Songs of Heroic Days, by Thomas O'Hagan
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Heroic Days, by Thomas O'Hagan
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Songs of Heroic Days
+
+Author: Thomas O'Hagan
+
+Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37154]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF HEROIC DAYS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<BR><BR>
+
+<P CLASS="t1">
+SONGS OF HEROIC DAYS
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P CLASS="t3">
+By
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="t2">
+THOMAS O'HAGAN
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P CLASS="t4">
+Author of
+<BR><BR>
+A Gate of Flowers<BR>
+In Dreamland<BR>
+Songs of the Settlement<BR>
+In the Heart of the Meadow<BR>
+and Others<BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<P CLASS="t4">
+Toronto:
+<BR>
+WILLIAM BRIGGS
+<BR>
+1916
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<P CLASS="t4">
+Copyright, Canada, 1916
+<BR>
+by Thomas O'Hagan
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<P CLASS="t3">
+TO THE BRAVE CANADIAN HEARTS<BR>
+THAT BEAT AND BATTLE FOR THE<BR>
+CAUSE OF FREEDOM AND THE SAFETY<BR>
+OF THE EMPIRE.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+PREFACE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Nearly all these Poems have appeared during the past year in the
+columns of the <I>Globe</I> and the <I>Mail</I> and <I>Empire</I> of Toronto, and the
+<I>Free Press</I> of Detroit, Michigan.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When the Author read from his poems last winter before the Women's
+Press Club of Toronto one of its members suggested that an engrossed
+and illuminated copy of the poem, "I Take Off My Hat to Albert," be
+presented to His Majesty, King Albert of Belgium. This was done
+through the kind offices and courtesy of Mr. Goor, the Belgian
+Consul-General at Ottawa.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His Majesty's gracious letter of acceptance, which the reader will find
+on another page, is indeed a Royal Foreword to these poetic blossoms of
+a piteous though heroic time.
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent">
+THOMAS O'HAGAN
+<BR>
+January 20th, 1916.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<P CLASS="t2">
+Contents
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%">
+<A HREF="#king">Letter From the King of Belgium</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#translation">Translation</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#albert">I Take Off My Hat to Albert</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#kaiser">The Kaiser's Favorite Poems</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#louvain">Louvain</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#bhoys">The Kaiser's Bhoys</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#mothers">Mothers</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#trenches">In the Trenches</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#christ">The Christ-Child</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#gift">God's New Year's Gift</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#louvre">Trouble in the Louvre</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#bobs">"Bobs" of Kandahar</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#zeppelin">Song of the Zeppelin</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#sock">"Sock it to 'Em"</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#langemarck">Langemarck</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#bugle">The Bugle Call</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#mission">His Mission</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#achilles">Achilles' Tomb</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#chrism">The Chrism of Kings</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#tipperary">Tipperary</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#gather">Gather the Harvest</A><BR>
+<A HREF="#place">The Kaiser's "Place in the Sun"</A><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="king"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+LETTER FROM THE KING OF BELGIUM
+</H3>
+
+<BR>
+
+<CENTER>
+<IMG SRC="images/img-letter.jpg" ALT="Letter from the King of Belgium" BORDER="">
+<H4>
+Letter from the King of Belgium
+</H4>
+</CENTER>
+
+<BR>
+
+<A NAME="translation"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+TRANSLATION
+</H3>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent">
+LA PANNE, August 11th, 1915.
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent">
+OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY TO THE KING AND<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;QUEEN (OF BELGIUM).<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent">
+SIR:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The very delicate words you have found to express to the King your
+friendly feelings have greatly touched His Majesty.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Sovereign, Who has much admired the beautiful illumination adorning
+the verses composed in His honor, commands me to thank you sincerely
+and to say that He will be glad to keep this valuable souvenir.
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent">
+I have the honor to be<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sir<BR>
+Your obedient Servant,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;J. INGENBLEEK,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<I>Secretary.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent">
+To DR. THOMAS O'HAGAN,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ottawa.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="albert"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+I TAKE OFF MY HAT TO ALBERT<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>Albert, King of Belgium, is the hero of the hour;<BR>
+He's the greatest king in Europe, he's a royal arch and tower;<BR>
+He is bigger in the trenches than the Kaiser on his Throne,<BR>
+And the whole world loves him for the sorrows he has known:<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So I take off my hat to Albert.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>Defiance was his answer to the Teuton at his gate,<BR>
+Then he buckled on his armor and pledged his soul to fate;<BR>
+He stood between his people and the biggest Essen gun,<BR>
+For he feared not shot nor shrapnel as his little army won:<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So I take off my hat to Albert.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>King of Belgium, Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, all in one;<BR>
+Little Kingdom of the Belgae starr'd with honor in the sun!<BR>
+You have won a place in history, of your deeds the world will sing,<BR>
+But the glory of your nation is your dust-stained, fearless King:<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So I take off my hat to Albert.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For M. Goor.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="kaiser"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE KAISER'S FAVORITE POEMS<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+What are the Kaiser's favorite poems?<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Well, now, you tax me hard:<BR>
+I know the Kaiser's favorite drink<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But do not know his bard;<BR>
+I'm sure it is not Schiller<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who reigns in German homes.<BR>
+Nor yet Olympian Goethe,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who writes the Kaiser's poems.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Perhaps that Heinrich Heine<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Has touched the Kaiser's soul;<BR>
+Or Arndt with his trumpet call<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Like a new conscription roll;<BR>
+Or, Walther von der Vogelweide<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With his nest in mythic domes,<BR>
+Is the author and creator<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Kaiser's favorite poems.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+If I saw the Kaiser's library<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I'd know well what he reads&mdash;<BR>
+The color of his fancy<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And the prompter of his deeds:<BR>
+I'd learn the depth and wisdom<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of his theories and his gnomes,<BR>
+If I got but just a glance or two<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the Kaiser's favorite poems.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Then let us go to Essen,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the Kaiser's books are bound;<BR>
+They are full of "steel" engravings&mdash;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;All "best sellers" there are found;<BR>
+For the Prussian soul and spirit<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Speaks in rhythm thro' those tomes,<BR>
+And these without a question,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Are the Kaiser's favorite poems.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Rt. Hon. David Lloyd-George.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="louvain"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+LOUVAIN<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+A shrine, where saints and scholars met<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And held aloft the torch of truth,<BR>
+Lies smouldering 'neath fair Brabant's skies,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A ruined heap&mdash;war's prize in sooth!<BR>
+The Pilates of Teutonic blood<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That fired the brand and flung the bomb<BR>
+Now wash their hands of evil deed,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;While all the world stands ghast and dumb.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Is this your culture, sons of Kant,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And ye who kneel 'round Goethe's throne?<BR>
+To carry in your knapsacks death?<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To feel for man nor ruth nor moan?<BR>
+What 'vails it now your mighty guns<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If God be mightier in the sky?<BR>
+What 'vail your cities, walls and towers<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If half your progress be a lie?<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+The smoking altars, ruined arch<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of ancient church and Gothic fane<BR>
+Have felt the death stings of your shells,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And speak in pity thro' Louvain.<BR>
+Wheel back your guns, your howitzers melt,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Forget your "World-Power's" cursed plan<BR>
+And sign in peace and not in blood<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dread Sinai's pact 'twixt God and Man.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For His Eminence Cardinal Merrier.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="bhoys"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE KAISER'S BHOYS<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+O, the Kaiser's bhoys are marching, "nach Paris" they are going,<BR>
+But they've sthopped to rest a minit at the Marne and at the Meuse;<BR>
+And the Gordons and the Ministers are thryin' to entertain them,<BR>
+For they've every kind of "record" that the Teutons want to choose;<BR>
+They have battle cries that sounded for centuries in the Highlands,<BR>
+They have war cries fierce and stirring as the breath of Munster gales;<BR>
+They are shoutin' to the heavens, and they're shoutin' to the Kaiser,<BR>
+"<I>Faugh-a-ballagh!</I>" sons of Odin, or we'll tie you up like bales.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+O, the Kaiser's bhoys are dramin' of a naval base at Calais,<BR>
+But they wakin' ivery mornin' full of sorrow and of gloom;<BR>
+For the little Belgian sojers cut the dykes and flood their trenches,<BR>
+And they find their dugouts only jist a bathtub or a tomb.<BR>
+But they're makin' progress backward, "<I>nach Berlin</I>" they are going,<BR>
+With their "<I>Landsturms</I>" and their "<I>Land-wehrs</I>,"<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;keepin' sthep in dim grey line;<BR>
+And they'll know far more of Britain and her brood of lions snarlin',<BR>
+When they find themselves "<I>su Hause</I>" jist beyant<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"<I>Die Wacht am Rhein</I>."<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For John E. Redmond, M.P.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="mothers"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+MOTHERS<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Through the vigils deep of the sable night<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A mother sits in grief alone,<BR>
+For her sons have gone to the battle front<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And left on the hearth a crushing stone.<BR>
+Beyond the stars that burn at night<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She sees God's arm in pity reach;<BR>
+It counsels patience, love and faith,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Heroic hearts and souls to teach.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+The blue is spann'd and the tide goes out.<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And the stars rain down a kindlier cheer;<BR>
+And the mother turns from this throne of grief<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To pierce the years with a joyous tear;<BR>
+For duty born of a mother's heart<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fills all the rounds of our common day&mdash;<BR>
+Yea, sheds its joy in the darkest night,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And fills with light each hidden way.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Miss Ina Coolbrith.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="trenches"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+IN THE TRENCHES<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+All day the guns belched fire and death<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And filled the hours with gloom;<BR>
+The fateful music smote the sky<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In tremulous bars of doom;<BR>
+But as the evening stars came forth<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A truce to death and strife,<BR>
+There rose from hearts of patriot love<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A tender song of life.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+A song of home and fireside<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Swelled on the evening air,<BR>
+And men forgot their battle line,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Its carnage and dark care;<BR>
+The soldier dropp'd his rifle<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And joined the choral song,<BR>
+As high above the tide of war<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It swept and pulsed along.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+That night while sleeping where the stars<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Look down upon the Meuse,<BR>
+Where Teuton valor coped with Frank,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where rained most deadly dews,<BR>
+A soldier youth, in khaki clad,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rock'd where the maples grow,<BR>
+Smiled in his dream and saw again<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The blue St. Lawrence flow.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Miss Julia O'Sullivan.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="christ"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE CHRIST-CHILD<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Across the waste, across the snow,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+Past sentinel of friend and foe<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+Comes the Christ-Child clad in white<BR>
+Through the storm-clouds of the night.<BR>
+Bearing in His lily hands<BR>
+Gift of peace to warring lands,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"<I>Adeste fideles!</I>" sing the choirs<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+Lurid flame the battle fires<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+Shepherds hear the heavenly song,<BR>
+Mid the strife and piteous wrong;<BR>
+Peace on earth but not of men,<BR>
+Peace that knows not crime nor sin.<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Lay your sceptres at His feet,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+Christ, the Babe of Bethlehem, greet,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+Legions stretched in battle line,<BR>
+Saw the star and knew the sign,<BR>
+Yet forgot that Christ was born<BR>
+Prince of Peace, on Christmas morn,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O the pity! O the pity!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Christmas, 1914.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+For Mrs. George McIntyre.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="gift"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+GOD'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+What shall the coming year bring forth,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O Lord, who rulest the land?<BR>
+For the navies of the sea and air<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Are but stubble in Thy hand.<BR>
+The battalions in the field go forth;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They arm in mighty line;<BR>
+Do they kneel to know Thy holy will?<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Have they asked from Thee a sign?<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+The kings invoke Thy holy name,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In their carnage and their strife;<BR>
+But the purple gift it was Thine to give<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Recks not of pity nor life:<BR>
+For they're drunk with the wine of lustful power,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And seared with the sins of earth;<BR>
+And their prayers and preachments now mock Thy name,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And make of Thy laws but mirth.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+January 1, 1916.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Duncan Campbell Scott.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="louvre"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+TROUBLE IN THE LOUVRE<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+When the German troops were marching with the Uhlans far ahead,<BR>
+The objective point being Paris, as the Berlin wireless said,<BR>
+There was trouble in the Louvre, 'mong the paintings on the walls,<BR>
+There were shoutings 'cross the centuries, there were<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;loud artistic calls;<BR>
+"Mona Lisa" ceased her smiling and "The Banker and His Wife"<BR>
+Turned to Millet's "Women Gleaning"&mdash;begged protection<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;for their life;<BR>
+While "The Gypsy Girl" of Franz Hals, fearful of impending fate,<BR>
+Roused "The Shepherds in Arcadia" with "The Hun is at the Gate!"<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Then the panic spread on all sides till the battle of the Marne<BR>
+Solved all danger of the looting, removed all need to warn;<BR>
+Straight "The Lace Maker" from Flemish Bruges in the joyous choral led<BR>
+Smiled at "Charles First of England" who had lost his crown and head;<BR>
+For fear had left the Louvre when the Teutons turned in flight,<BR>
+So they scanned the sky no longer for dread Zeppelins in the night.<BR>
+And the paintings born of centuries touched by genius into life<BR>
+Still are hanging in the Louvre 'mid war's clash and clang and strife.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Edgar Guest.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="bobs"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+"BOBS" OF KANDAHAR<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P STYLE="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%">
+"The body of 'Bobs' then lay in state until five o'clock, when it was
+interred in a crypt near-by those containing the bodies of Nelson and
+Wellington."&mdash;<I>Press Despatch</I>.
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Who is he that cometh to join our mighty dead?<BR>
+Is it "Bobs" of Kandahar the Empire's armies led?<BR>
+Give him place, O Nation great! within your storied walls;<BR>
+Within our heart his name shall rest, his ashes in St. Paul's.<BR>
+Soldier of the Empire, Bobs of Kandahar!<BR>
+Lay him near the hero of glorious Trafalgar!<BR>
+Death has ta'en the shining sword he aye in duty drew;<BR>
+Lay him near the Iron Duke of fateful Waterloo!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Soldier of the Empire, well thy work was done,<BR>
+Fit thy sun had setting within sound and roar of gun;<BR>
+Thy soul had vision of the years fraught with danger's woe,<BR>
+And counsell'd arméd wisdom against a subtle foe;<BR>
+Now thy task has ended, the splendor of thy sun,<BR>
+Sheds its setting glory on the greater life begun,<BR>
+From where the Maple stands in pride to India's torrid star,<BR>
+Now, mourn an Empire's people for "Bobs" of Kandahar!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Lady Aileen Mary Roberts.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="zeppelin"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+SONG OF THE ZEPPELIN<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+I cleave the air through the murky night,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;High o'er the forests and sleeping towns;<BR>
+Below me drifts the shimmering light&mdash;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A glorious fresco on vale and downs;<BR>
+My sea hath no billows nor rocky shores,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And only the winds disturb my soul;<BR>
+I care not for those who slumber in death,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For my bomb is bloody and death my goal&mdash;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And all for the Vaterland!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Where the currents cross and the cruisers speed<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I sail towards the North in a piteous sky;<BR>
+I hear the night wind's surging note<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As it mingles its requiem with the widow's cry.<BR>
+Above me there streams a light from heaven,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But I bow my head and veil my eyes<BR>
+As I plough the fields with my fateful keel<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And sow the highways with tears and sighs&mdash;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And all for the Vaterland!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+And hate is the banner I unfurl so wide<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That its blood-dripp'd folds may catch the breeze;<BR>
+That e'en from the balcony of heaven on high<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;May be seen this banner on all the seas.<BR>
+No triumph of arms is my flight by night,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It is only a part of a murderous raid:<BR>
+Dropping a bomb on an innocent child<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or a crowing babe in its cradle laid&mdash;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And all for the Vaterland!<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Thomas Walsh.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="sock"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+"SOCK IT TO 'EM"<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P STYLE="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%">
+"A Canadian lieutenant writes his mother from the front that what he
+most needs for the winter is good warm socks."&mdash;<I>Press Despatch</I>.
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Yes, Wilhelm, sure you'll get it,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The storm is o'er your head;<BR>
+It is bursting in the trenches<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And you're just as good as dead.<BR>
+You put your foot on Belgium<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And defied your fate and doom,<BR>
+And now the whole world hates you<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And the cry is "Sock it to 'em!"<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+True, your Taubchens still are sailing,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But your battleships are not;<BR>
+They are coop'd up in a corner<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Save the submerg'd ones that fought.<BR>
+You are saving time and fuel,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But you're sad and filled with gloom,<BR>
+For the very winds are whispering<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Blow hard and sock it to 'em."<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+You have sought more spacious realm<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In the free and genial sun:<BR>
+Has your sceptre widened any<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With the salvo of each gun?<BR>
+Your "World-Power" seems to narrow,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And your hope lies in a tomb,<BR>
+While dark Fate weaves your chaplet<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And whispers "Sock it to 'em!"<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Theodore Botrel.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="langemarck"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+LANGEMARCK<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+A glory lights the skies of Flanders<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the blood-stained fields lie bare,<BR>
+Where the clouds of war have gathered,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Built their parapets in the air;<BR>
+Halted stands the Teuton army,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Checked its onslaught at a sign;<BR>
+Forward roll the warlike forces,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sons of Canada in line.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Let them taste of Northern courage<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the lordly maple grows;<BR>
+Let them face the heroes nurtured<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the stars have wed the snows;<BR>
+We are sons of sires undaunted,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Children of the hills and plains;<BR>
+Ours a courage born of duty,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Pluck and dash of many strains.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Tell it to our children's children<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;How Canadians saved the day;<BR>
+Write it with the pen of history,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sing it as a fireside lay;<BR>
+How at Langemarck in Flanders,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Though the odds were eight to one,<BR>
+Our Canadians stood unbroken,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sword to sword, and gun to gun.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Sir Wilfrid Laurier.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="bugle"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE BUGLE CALL<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Do you hear the call of our Mother,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From over the sea, from over the sea?<BR>
+The call to her children, in every land;<BR>
+To her sons on Afric's far-stretch'd veldt;<BR>
+To her dark-skinned children on India's shore,<BR>
+Whose souls are nourish'd on Aryan lore;<BR>
+To her sons of the Northland where frosty stars<BR>
+Glitter and shine like a helmet of Mars;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Do you hear the call of our Mother?<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Do you hear the call of our Mother<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From over the sea, from over the sea?<BR>
+The call to Australia's legions strong,<BR>
+That move with the might and stealth of a wave;<BR>
+To the men of the camp and men of the field,<BR>
+Whose courage has taught them never to yield;<BR>
+To the men whose counsel has saved the State,<BR>
+And thwarted the plans of impending fate;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Do you hear the call of our Mother?<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Do you hear the call of our Mother<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From over the sea, from over the sea?<BR>
+To the little cot on the wind-swept hill;<BR>
+To the lordly mansion in the city street;<BR>
+To her sons who toil in the forest deep<BR>
+Or bind the sheaves where the reapers reap;<BR>
+To her children scattered far East and West;<BR>
+To her sons who joy in her Freedom Blest;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Do you hear the call of our Mother?<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Major-General Sir Sam Hughes.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="mission"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+HIS MISSION<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P STYLE="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%">
+"A German will teach Irish at the University of Illinois, beginning in
+February, when Dr. Kuno E. Meyer of the University of Berlin will
+become visiting professor of the Celtic language and
+literature."&mdash;<I>Press Despatch</I>.
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Go back, dear Kuno, to the Poles and Alsatians,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And teach them the language your nation has robbed;<BR>
+Piece out their dreams of new glory and freedom;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bring joy to the hearts where the children have sobbed.<BR>
+We love the old Celtic tongue, vibrant with music,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As it speaks to our hearts thro' the chords of long years,<BR>
+But we don't want your lessons, though laden with "<I>Kultur</I>,"<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From a land where Alsatians and Poles are in tears.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Go back, Herr Professor, your mission is ended,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For, though your gifts are many, you are "<I>ausgespielt</I>";<BR>
+Go back and receive your "Kreuz von Eisen,"<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For we don't like the way that you're "<I>ausgebild't</I>."<BR>
+The stars that burn with the true light of freedom,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In this giant new world, with its endless day,<BR>
+Have nothing in common with your satellite planets,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And care not to shine on your Eagle's prey.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Dr. Douglas Hyde.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="achilles"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+ACHILLES' TOMB<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Achilles awoke in his ancient tomb<BR>
+Hard by the coast of Troy;<BR>
+He rattled his armor now full of dust<BR>
+And rubbed his eyes like a boy,<BR>
+As he gazed on the ships of the allied fleet,<BR>
+Ploughing the seas from afar,<BR>
+Bent on their course to the Dardanelles<BR>
+'Neath the light of Victory's star.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"Why, I've been asleep," Achilles said,<BR>
+"On the windy plains of Troy;<BR>
+Three thousand years have turned to dust<BR>
+With their maddening mirth and joy;<BR>
+Yet it seems but a day since Ilium fell,<BR>
+Since Sinon spun out his tale,<BR>
+And the Greeks returned from Tenedos<BR>
+With a light and prosperous gale.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"Three thousand years is a long, long time,<BR>
+But I'll doze for a thousand more;<BR>
+For I'm sick of the bluff of the Teuton hosts<BR>
+And the gas from each army corps.<BR>
+So lay me down in my ancient tomb,<BR>
+Where the Phrygian winds sweep by,<BR>
+And I'll dream of the days when heroes fought,<BR>
+'Round the lofty walls of Troy."<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Very Rev. W. R. Harris, D.D.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chrism"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE CHRISM OF KINGS<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+In the morn of the world, at the daybreak of time,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When Kingdoms were few and Empires unknown,<BR>
+God searched for a Ruler to sceptre the land,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And gather the harvest from the seed He had sown.<BR>
+He found a young Shepherd boy watching his flock<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the mountains looked down on deep meadows of green;<BR>
+He hailed the young Shepherd boy king of the land<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And anointed his brow with a Chrism unseen.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+He placed in his frail hands the sceptre of power,<BR>
+And taught his young heart all the wisdom of love;<BR>
+He gave him the vision of prophet and priest,<BR>
+And dowered him with counsel and light from above.<BR>
+But alas! came a day when the Shepherd forgot<BR>
+And heaped on his realm all the woes that war brings,<BR>
+And bartering his purple for the greed of his heart<BR>
+He lost both the sceptre and Chrism of Kings.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Miss Katherine Brégy.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="tipperary"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+TIPPERARY<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<H4 ALIGN="center">
+(New version.)<BR>
+</H4>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+I'm not going to Tipperary for I've better work to do,<BR>
+I am dreaming of a new device to catch each German crew;<BR>
+And when we've chased them thro' the deep, <I>Ach Gott!</I> what<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;fun there'll be<BR>
+Rounding up the Teuton "subs" in the blue and vasty sea.<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So, good-bye, Tipperary! Farewell, Slieve-na-mon!<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I leave you for a season to chase the murderous Hun;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Von Tirpitz knows their hiding-place and I'll find out, too,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So, good-bye, Tipperary, till we've caught each pirate crew.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Then I'll go to Tipperary with its hills of emerald green,<BR>
+Where the skies are full of splendor and each peasant girl a queen;<BR>
+Where the men know naught but honor and where duty is their goal;<BR>
+Where the shadows from the mountains are but sunlight to the soul.<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So, good-bye, Tipperary, till we've rounded up each crew,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then I'll turn my face to greet you for to you I'll e'er be true;<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So I'm off to chase the pirates and the ocean aisles to sweep,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<I>Ach Himmel</I>, Tipperary! there'll be fun upon the deep.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Rev. J. B. Bollard.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="gather"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+GATHER THE HARVEST<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Gather the harvest though reaped in death,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Under the pale, pale moon;<BR>
+For the lilies that joyed in the breath of morn<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall know not the ardor of noon:<BR>
+So, the souls that grow strong, in patriot love,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall be garnered on Death's dark field,<BR>
+Ere the noontide rays have touched the vale<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And burnished with gold life's shield.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+Gather the harvest though reaped in death,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the sword has struck for Right,<BR>
+And cleft a way for Freedom's path,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Through the dark and tremulous night:<BR>
+For the golden grain on the altar flames<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And lights each pilgrim throng,<BR>
+As they meet in joy 'round that altar bright<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where Justice shall right each wrong.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For Miss Helen Merrill.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="place"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE KAISER'S "PLACE IN THE SUN"<BR>
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+The Kaiser is seeking "a place in the Sun"<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But I fear he'll have to wait,<BR>
+Till another eclipse has dulled its face<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And the Allies have woven his fate:<BR>
+For the "spots" on the Sun are all occupied<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With a race descended from Mars;<BR>
+So there's no place in the heavens for <I>schrecklich</I> Wilhelm,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Not even among the Stars.<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+What boots it, Wilhelm, that your guns are big,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And your Zeppelins soar by night,<BR>
+Since against you are leagued the earth and stars<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And you're sure to lose in the fight.<BR>
+You have drenched the world with heroic blood,<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And stained the record of Man,<BR>
+But you'll presently get your "place in the Sun,"<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Yes, the hottest since time began,<BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+<I>For T. J. Murphy.</I><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR><BR>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Heroic Days, by Thomas O'Hagan
+
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