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diff --git a/40345-0.txt b/40345-0.txt index fbc0b33..74eb270 100644 --- a/40345-0.txt +++ b/40345-0.txt @@ -1,29 +1,4 @@ - A SONG OF THE GUNS - - - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: A Song of the Guns - -Author: Gilbert Frankau - -Release Date: July 26, 2012 [EBook #40345] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SONG OF THE GUNS *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40345 *** Produced by Al Haines. @@ -846,376 +821,4 @@ GOBLINS AND PAGODAS. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER. SOME IMAGIST POETS, 1916. A SONG OF THE GUNS. GILBERT FRANKAU. - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SONG OF THE GUNS *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40345 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the Project -Gutenberg™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered -trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you -receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of -this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. 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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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: A Song of the Guns - -Author: Gilbert Frankau - -Release Date: July 26, 2012 [EBook #40345] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SONG OF THE GUNS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - - A SONG OF THE GUNS - - - BY - - GILBERT FRANKAU, R.S.A. - - - - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - 1916 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY GILBERT FRANKAU - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - _Published April 1916_ - - - - NOTE - - -_A Song of the Guns_ was written under what are probably the most -remarkable conditions in which a poem has ever been composed. The -author, who is now serving in Flanders, was present at the battle of -Loos, and during a lull in the fighting--when the gunners, who had been -sleepless for five nights, were resting like tired dogs under their -guns--he jotted down the main theme of the poem. After the battle the -artillery brigade to which he was attached was ordered to Ypres, and it -was during the long trench warfare in this district, within sight of the -ruined tower of Ypres Cathedral, that the poem was finally completed. -The last three stanzas were written at midnight in Brigade Headquarters -with the German shells screaming over into the ruined town. - - - - - CONTENTS - - -The Voice of the Slaves -Headquarters -Gun-Teams -Eyes in the Air -Signals -The Observers -Ammunition Column -The Voice of the Guns - - - - - A SONG OF THE GUNS - - - These are our masters, the slim - Grim muzzles that irk in the pit; - That chafe for the rushing of wheels, - For the teams plunging madly to bit - As the gunners wing down to unkey, - For the trails sweeping half-circle-right, - For the six breech-blocks clashing as one - To a target viewed clear on the sight-- - Gray masses the shells search and tear - Into fragments that bunch as they run-- - For the hour of the red battle-harvest, - The dream of the slaves of the gun! - - We have bartered our souls to the guns; - Every fibre of body and brain - Have we trained to them, chained to them. Serfs? - Aye! but proud of the weight of our chain, - Of our backs that are bowed to their workings, - To hide them and guard and disguise, - Of our ears that are deafened with service, - Of hands that are scarred, and of eyes - Grown hawklike with marking their prey, - Of wings that are slashed as with swords - When we hover, the turn of a blade - From the death that is sweet to our lords. - - - - - THE VOICE OF THE SLAVES - - - _By the ears and the eyes and the brain,_ - _By the limbs and the hands and the wings,_ - _We are slaves to our masters the guns;_ - _But their slaves are the masters of kings!_ - - - - - HEADQUARTERS - - - A league and a league from the trenches, - from the traversed maze of the lines,-- - Where daylong the sniper watches and daylong the - bullet whines, - And the cratered earth is in travail with mines and - with countermines,-- - - Here, where haply some woman dreamed, (are - those her roses that bloom - In the garden beyond the windows of my littered - working-room?) - We have decked the map for our masters as a bride - is decked for the groom. - - Here, on each numbered lettered square,--cross-road - and mound and wire, - Loophole, redoubt, and emplacement, are the targets - their mouths desire,-- - Gay with purples and browns and blues, have we - traced them their arcs of fire. - - And ever the type-keys clatter; and ever our keen - wires bring - Word from the watchers a-crouch below, word - from the watchers a-wing; - And ever we hear the distant growl of our hid guns - thundering; - - Hear it hardly, and turn again to our maps, where - the trench-lines crawl, - Red on the gray and each with a sign for the - ranging shrapnel's fall-- - Snakes that our masters shall scotch at dawn, as is - written here on the wall. - - For the weeks of our waiting draw to a close.... - There is scarcely a leaf astir - In the garden beyond my windows where the - twilight shadows blur - The blaze of some woman's roses.... - "Bombardment orders, sir." - - - - - GUN-TEAMS - - - Their rugs are sodden, their heads are down, their - tails are turned to the storm. - (Would you know them, you that groomed them - in the sleek fat days of peace,-- - When the tiles rang to their pawings in the lighted - stalls and warm,-- - Now the foul clay cakes on breeching-strap and - clogs the quick-release?) - - The blown rain stings, there is never a star, the - tracks are rivers of slime. - (You must harness up by guesswork with a - failing torch for light, - Instep-deep in unmade standings, for it's active-service time, - And our resting weeks are over, and we move - the guns to-night.) - - The iron tires slither, the traces sag; their blind - hooves stumble and slide; - They are war-worn, they are weary, soaked with - sweat and sopped with rain. - (You must hold them, you must help them, swing - your lead and centre wide - Where the greasy granite pave peters out to - squelching drain.) - - There is shrapnel bursting a mile in front on the - road that the guns must take: - (You are nervous, you are thoughtful, you are - shifting in your seat, - As you watch the ragged feathers flicker orange - flame and break)-- - But the teams are pulling steady down the - battered village street. - - You have shod them cold, and their coats are long, - and their bellies gray with the mud; - They have done with gloss and polish, but the - fighting heart's unbroke. - We, who saw them hobbling after us down white - roads flecked with blood, - Patient, wondering why we left them, till we - lost them in the smoke; - - Who have felt them shiver between our knees, - when the shells rain black from the skies, - When the bursting terrors find us and the lines - stampede as one; - Who have watched the pierced limbs quiver and - the pain in stricken eyes, - Know the worth of humble servants, foolish-faithful - to their gun! - - - - - EYES IN THE AIR - - - Our guns are a league behind us, our target a mile below, - And there's never a cloud to blind us from the haunts of - our lurking foe-- - Sunk pit whence his shrapnel tore us, support-trench - crest-concealed, - As clear as the charts before us, his ramparts lie revealed. - His panicked watchers spy us, a droning threat in the void; - Their whistling shells outfly us--puff upon puff, deployed - Across the green beneath us, across the flanking grey, - In fume and fire to sheathe us and balk us of our prey. - - Below, beyond, above her, - Their iron web is spun! - Flicked but unsnared we hover, - Edged planes against the sun: - Eyes in the air above his lair, - The hawks that guide the gun! - - No word from earth may reach us save, white against the ground, - The strips outspread to teach us whose ears are deaf to sound: - But down the winds that sear us, athwart our engine's shriek, - We send--and know they hear us, the ranging guns we speak. - Our visored eyeballs show us their answering pennant, broke - Eight thousand feet below us, a whirl of flame-stabbed smoke-- - The burst that hangs to guide us, while numbed gloved fingers - tap - From wireless key beside us the circles of the map. - - Line--target--short or over-- - Comes, plain as clock-hands run, - Word from the birds that hover, - Unblinded, tail to sun-- - Word out of air to range them fair, - From hawks that guide the gun! - - Your flying shells have failed you, your landward guns are dumb: - Since earth hath naught availed you, these skies be open! Come, - Where, wild to meet and mate you, flame in their beaks for - breath, - Black doves! the white hawks wait you on the wind-tossed - boughs of death. - These boughs be cold without you, our hearts are hot for this, - Our wings shall beat about you, our scorching breath shall kiss: - Till, fraught with that we gave you, fulfilled of our desire, - You bank,--too late to save you from biting beaks of fire,-- - - Turn sideways from your lover, - Shudder and swerve and run, - Tilt; stagger; and plunge over - Ablaze against the sun,-- - Doves dead in air, who clomb to dare - The hawks that guide the gun! - - - - - SIGNALS - - - The hot wax drips from the flares - On the scrawled pink forms that litter - The bench where he sits; the glitter - Of stars is framed by the sandbags atop of the dug-out stairs. - And the lagging watch-hands creep; - And his cloaked mates murmur in sleep,-- - Forms he can wake with a kick,-- - And he hears, as he plays with the pressel-switch, the strapped - receiver click - On his ear that listens, listens; - And the candle-flicker glistens - On the rounded brass of the switch-board where the red wires - cluster thick. - - Wires from the earth, from the air; - Wires that whisper and chatter - At night, when the trench-rats patter - And nibble among the rations and scuttle back to their lair; - Wires that are never at rest,-- - For the linesmen tap them and test, - And ever they tremble with tone:-- - And he knows from a hundred signals the buzzing call of his own, - The breaks and the vibrant stresses,-- - The Z and the G and the S's - That call his hand to the answering key and his mouth to the - microphone. - - For always the laid guns fret - On the words that his mouth shall utter, - When rifle and Maxim stutter - And the rockets volley to starward from the spurting parapet; - And always his ear must hark - To the voices out of the dark,-- - For the whisper over the wire, - From the bombed and the battered trenches where the wounded moan - in the mire,-- - For a sign to waken the thunder - Which shatters the night in sunder - With the flash of the leaping muzzles and the beat of - battery-fire. - - - - - THE OBSERVERS - - - Ere the last light that leaps the night has hung and shone and - died, - While yet the breast-high fog of dawn is swathed about the - plain, - By hedge and track our slaves go back, the waning stars for - guide, - Eyes of our mouths; the mists have cleared, the guns would - speak again! - - Faint on the ears that strain to hear, their orders trickle down - "Degrees--twelve--left of zero line--corrector one three - eight-- - Three thousand." ... Shift our trails and lift the muzzles that - shall drown - The rifle's idle chatter when our sendings detonate. - - Sending or still, these serve our will; the hidden eyes that - mark - From gutted farm, from laddered tree that scans the furrowed - slope, - From coigns of slag whose pit-ropes sag on burrowed ways and - dark, - In open trench where sandbags hold the steady periscope. - - Waking, they know the instant foe, the bullets phutting by, - The blurring lens, the sodden map, the wires that leak or - break! - Sleeping, they dream of shells that scream adown a sunless sky-- - And the splinters patter round them in their dug-outs as they - wake. - - Not theirs, the wet glad bayonet, the red and racing hour, - The rush that clears the bombing-post with knife and - hand-grenade; - Not theirs the zest when, steel to breast, the last survivors - cower,-- - Yet can ye hold the ground ye won, save these be there to aid? - - These, that observe the shell's far swerve, these of the quiet - voice, - That bids "go on," repeats the range, corrects for fuse or - line... - Though dour the task their masters ask, what room for thought or - choice? - This is ours by right of service, heedless gift of youthful - eyne! - - Careless they give while yet they live; the dead we tasked too - sore - Bear witness we were naught begrudged of riches or of youth; - Careless they gave; across their grave our calling salvoes roar, - And those we maimed come back to us in proof our dead speak - truth! - - - - - AMMUNITION COLUMN - - - _I am only a cog in a giant machine, a link of an endless - chain:--_ - _And the rounds are drawn, and the rounds are fired,_ - _and the empties return again;_ - _'Railroad, lorry, and limber; battery, column, and park;_ - _'To the shelf where the set fuse waits the breech, from_ - _the quay where the shells embark._ - We have watered and fed, and eaten our beef; the - long dull day drags by, - As I sit here watching our "Archibalds" _strafing_ an empty sky; - Puff and flash on the far-off blue round the speck - one guesses the plane-- - Smoke and spark of the gun-machine that is fed by the endless - chain. - - I am only a cog in a giant machine, a little link in the chain, - Waiting a word from the wagon-lines that the guns are hungry - again:-- - _Column-wagon to battery-wagon, and battery-wagon to gun;_ - _To the loader kneeling 'twixt trail and wheel from the_ - _shops where the steam-lathes run._ - There's a lone mule braying against the line where - the mud cakes fetlock-deep! - There's a lone soul humming a hint of a song in - the barn where the drivers sleep; - And I hear the pash of the orderly's horse as he - canters him down the lane-- - Another cog in the gun-machine, a link in the selfsame chain. - - I am only a cog in a giant machine, but a vital link in the - chain; - And the Captain has sent from the wagon-line to - fill his wagons again;-- - _From wagon-limber to gunpit dump; from loader's forearm at - breech_ - _To the working party that melts away when the shrapnel_ - _bullets screech.--_ - So the restless section pulls out once more in column - of route from the right, - At the tail of a blood-red afternoon; so the flux of another - night - Bears back the wagons we fill at dawn to the sleeping column - again... - Cog on cog in the gun-machine, link on link in the chain! - - - - - THE VOICE OF THE GUNS - - - We are the guns, and your masters! Saw ye our flashes? - Heard ye the scream of our shells in the night, and the - shuddering crashes? - Saw ye our work by the roadside, the gray wounded lying, - Moaning to God that he made them--the maimed and the dying? - Husbands or sons, - Fathers or lovers, we break them! We are the guns! - - We are the guns and ye serve us! Dare ye grow weary, - Steadfast at nighttime, at noontime; or waking, when dawn - winds blow dreary - Over the fields and the flats and the reeds of the barrier - water, - To wait on the hour of our choosing, the minute decided for - slaughter? - Swift the clock runs; - Yes, to the ultimate second. Stand to your guns! - - We are the guns and we need you! Here in the timbered - Pits that are screened by the crest and the copse - where at dusk ye unlimbered, - Pits that one found us--and, finding, gave life (did - he flinch from the giving?); - Laboured by moonlight when wraith of the dead - brooded yet o'er the living, - Ere with the sun's - Rising the sorrowful spirit abandoned its guns. - - Who but the guns shall avenge him? Strip us for action! - Load us and lay to the centremost hair of the dial-sight's - refraction. - Set your quick hands to our levers to compass the sped soul's - assoiling; - Brace your taut limbs to the shock when the thrust - of the barrel recoiling - Deafens and stuns! - Vengeance is ours for our servants. Trust ye the guns! - - Least of our bond-slaves or greatest, grudge ye the burden? - Hard is this service of ours which has only our service for - guerdon: - Grow the limbs lax, and unsteady the hands, which - aforetime we trusted; - Flawed, the clear crystal of sight; and the clean - steel of hardihood rusted? - _Dominant ones,_ - _Are we not tried serfs and proven--true to our guns?_ - - _Ye are the guns! Are we worthy? Shall not these speak for - us,_ - _Out of the woods where the torn trees are slashed with_ - _the vain bolts that seek for us,_ - _Thunder of batteries firing in unison, swish of shell - flighting,_ - _Hissing that rushes to silence and breaks to the thud of - alighting?_ - _Death that outruns_ - _Horseman and foot? Are we justified? Answer, O guns!_ - - Yea! by your works are ye justified,--toil unrelieved; - Manifold labours, cordinate each to the sending achieved; - Discipline, not of the feet but the soul, unremitting, - unfeigned; - Tortures unholy by flame and by maiming, known, faced, and - disdained; - Courage that shuns - Only foolhardiness;--even by these are ye worthy your guns! - - Wherefore--and unto ye only--power has been given; - Yea! beyond man, over men, over desolate cities and riven; - Yea! beyond space, over earth and the seas and the - sky's high dominions; - Yea! beyond time, over Hell and the fiends and - the Death-Angel's pinions! - Vigilant ones, - Loose them, and shatter, and spare not. We are the guns! - - - - - THE END - - - - - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . 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"Admirably -written without one superfluous word to mar the directness of their -appeal."--_New York Times_. $1.50 net. - - - Poetry - - A SONG OF THE GUNS - GILBERT FRANKAU - -Vivid, powerful verse written to the roar of guns on the western front, -by a son of Frank Danby, the novelist. - - - Biography - - KITCHENER, ORGANIZER OF VICTORY - HAROLD BEGBIE - -The first full and satisfactory account of the life and deeds of -England's great War Minister. Suppressed in England for its frankness. -Illustrated. $1.25. - - - History - - IS WAR DIMINISHING? - FREDERICK ADAMS WOODS, M.D., AND ALEXANDER BALTZLEY - -The first complete and authoritative study of the question of whether -warfare has increased or diminished in the last five centuries. $1.00 -net. - - - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - - - - - The New Poetry Series - - PUBLISHED BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - - -IRRADIATIONS. SAND AND SPRAY. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER. -SOME IMAGIST POETS. -JAPANESE LYRICS. Translated by LAFCADIO HEARN. -AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING. -THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. EMILE VERHAEREN. -INTERFLOW. GEOFFREY C. FABER. -STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. PAUL SHIVELL. -IDOLS. WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG. -TURNS AND MOVIES, AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE. CONRAD AIKEN. -ROADS. GRACE FALLOW NORTON. -GOBLINS AND PAGODAS. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER. -SOME IMAGIST POETS, 1916. -A SONG OF THE GUNS. GILBERT FRANKAU. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SONG OF THE GUNS *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40345 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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width: 100%" alt=" " src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> + <div class="caption figure"> + Cover + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <div class="align-None center container titlepage white-space-pre-line"> + <p class="pfirst white-space-pre-line x-large">A SONG OF THE GUNS</p> + <div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">BY</p> + <p class="large pnext white-space-pre-line">GILBERT FRANKAU, R.S.A.</p> + <div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> + The Riverside Press Cambridge<br /> + 1916</p> + <div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 4em"></div> + </div> + <div class="align-None center container verso white-space-pre-line"> + <p class="center pfirst small white-space-pre-line">COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY GILBERT FRANKAU<br /> + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> + <em class="italics white-space-pre-line">Published April 1916</em></p> + <div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 3em"></div> + </div><!-- --> + <p class="center medium pfirst">NOTE</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="pfirst"><em class="italics">A Song of the Guns</em> was written under what are probably the most remarkable conditions in which a poem has ever been composed. The author, who is now serving in Flanders, was present at the battle of Loos, and during a lull in the fighting--when the gunners, who had been sleepless for five nights, were resting like tired dogs under their guns--he jotted down the main theme of the poem. After the battle the artillery brigade to which he was attached was ordered to Ypres, and it was during the long trench warfare in this district, within sight of the ruined tower of Ypres Cathedral, that the poem was finally completed. The last three stanzas were written at midnight in Brigade Headquarters with the German shells screaming over into the ruined town.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst">CONTENTS</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="left medium pfirst white-space-pre-line"><a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#the-voice-of-the-slaves">The Voice of the Slaves</a><br /> + <a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#headquarters">Headquarters</a><br /> + <a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#gun-teams">Gun-Teams</a><br /> + <a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#eyes-in-the-air">Eyes in the Air</a><br /> + <a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#signals">Signals</a><br /> + <a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#the-observers">The Observers</a><br /> + <a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#ammunition-column">Ammunition Column</a><br /> + <a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#the-voice-of-the-guns">The Voice of the Guns</a></p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="id1">A SONG OF THE GUNS</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + These are our masters, the slim + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Grim muzzles that irk in the pit; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + That chafe for the rushing of wheels, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + For the teams plunging madly to bit + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + As the gunners wing down to unkey, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + For the trails sweeping half-circle-right, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + For the six breech-blocks clashing as one + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + To a target viewed clear on the sight-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Gray masses the shells search and tear + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Into fragments that bunch as they run-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + For the hour of the red battle-harvest, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + The dream of the slaves of the gun! + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + We have bartered our souls to the guns; + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Every fibre of body and brain + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Have we trained to them, chained to them. Serfs? + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Aye! but proud of the weight of our chain, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Of our backs that are bowed to their workings, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + To hide them and guard and disguise, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Of our ears that are deafened with service, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Of hands that are scarred, and of eyes + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Grown hawklike with marking their prey, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Of wings that are slashed as with swords + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + When we hover, the turn of a blade + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + From the death that is sweet to our lords. + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="the-voice-of-the-slaves">THE VOICE OF THE SLAVES</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">By the ears and the eyes and the brain,</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">By the limbs and the hands and the wings,</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">We are slaves to our masters the guns;</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">But their slaves are the masters of kings!</em> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="headquarters">HEADQUARTERS</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + A league and a league from the trenches, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + from the traversed maze of the lines,-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Where daylong the sniper watches and daylong the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + bullet whines, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + And the cratered earth is in travail with mines and + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + with countermines,-- + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Here, where haply some woman dreamed, (are + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + those her roses that bloom + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + In the garden beyond the windows of my littered + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + working-room?) + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + We have decked the map for our masters as a bride + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + is decked for the groom. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Here, on each numbered lettered square,--cross-road + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + and mound and wire, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Loophole, redoubt, and emplacement, are the targets + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + their mouths desire,-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Gay with purples and browns and blues, have we + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + traced them their arcs of fire. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + And ever the type-keys clatter; and ever our keen + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + wires bring + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Word from the watchers a-crouch below, word + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + from the watchers a-wing; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + And ever we hear the distant growl of our hid guns + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + thundering; + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Hear it hardly, and turn again to our maps, where + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + the trench-lines crawl, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Red on the gray and each with a sign for the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + ranging shrapnel's fall-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Snakes that our masters shall scotch at dawn, as is + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + written here on the wall. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + For the weeks of our waiting draw to a close.... + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + There is scarcely a leaf astir + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + In the garden beyond my windows where the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + twilight shadows blur + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + The blaze of some woman's roses.... + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + "Bombardment orders, sir." + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="gun-teams">GUN-TEAMS</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Their rugs are sodden, their heads are down, their + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + tails are turned to the storm. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + (Would you know them, you that groomed them + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + in the sleek fat days of peace,-- + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + When the tiles rang to their pawings in the lighted + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + stalls and warm,-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Now the foul clay cakes on breeching-strap and + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + clogs the quick-release?) + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + The blown rain stings, there is never a star, the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + tracks are rivers of slime. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + (You must harness up by guesswork with a + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + failing torch for light, + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Instep-deep in unmade standings, for it's active-service time, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + And our resting weeks are over, and we move + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + the guns to-night.) + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + The iron tires slither, the traces sag; their blind + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + hooves stumble and slide; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + They are war-worn, they are weary, soaked with + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + sweat and sopped with rain. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + (You must hold them, you must help them, swing + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + your lead and centre wide + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Where the greasy granite pave peters out to + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + squelching drain.) + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + There is shrapnel bursting a mile in front on the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + road that the guns must take: + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + (You are nervous, you are thoughtful, you are + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + shifting in your seat, + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + As you watch the ragged feathers flicker orange + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + flame and break)-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + But the teams are pulling steady down the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + battered village street. + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + You have shod them cold, and their coats are long, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + and their bellies gray with the mud; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + They have done with gloss and polish, but the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + fighting heart's unbroke. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + We, who saw them hobbling after us down white + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + roads flecked with blood, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Patient, wondering why we left them, till we + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + lost them in the smoke; + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Who have felt them shiver between our knees, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + when the shells rain black from the skies, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + When the bursting terrors find us and the lines + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + stampede as one; + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Who have watched the pierced limbs quiver and + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + the pain in stricken eyes, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Know the worth of humble servants, foolish-faithful + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + to their gun! + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="eyes-in-the-air">EYES IN THE AIR</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Our guns are a league behind us, our target a mile below, + </div> + <div class="line"> + And there's never a cloud to blind us from the haunts of + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + our lurking foe-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Sunk pit whence his shrapnel tore us, support-trench crest-concealed, + </div> + <div class="line"> + As clear as the charts before us, his ramparts lie revealed. + </div> + <div class="line"> + His panicked watchers spy us, a droning threat in the void; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Their whistling shells outfly us--puff upon puff, deployed + </div> + <div class="line"> + Across the green beneath us, across the flanking grey, + </div> + <div class="line"> + In fume and fire to sheathe us and balk us of our prey. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Below, beyond, above her, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Their iron web is spun! + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Flicked but unsnared we hover, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Edged planes against the sun: + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Eyes in the air above his lair, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + The hawks that guide the gun! + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + No word from earth may reach us save, white against the ground, + </div> + <div class="line"> + The strips outspread to teach us whose ears are deaf to sound: + </div> + <div class="line"> + But down the winds that sear us, athwart our engine's shriek, + </div> + <div class="line"> + We send--and know they hear us, the ranging guns we speak. + </div> + <div class="line"> + Our visored eyeballs show us their answering pennant, broke + </div> + <div class="line"> + Eight thousand feet below us, a whirl of flame-stabbed smoke-- + </div> + <div class="line"> + The burst that hangs to guide us, while numbed gloved fingers tap + </div> + <div class="line"> + From wireless key beside us the circles of the map. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Line--target--short or over-- + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Comes, plain as clock-hands run, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Word from the birds that hover, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Unblinded, tail to sun-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Word out of air to range them fair, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + From hawks that guide the gun! + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Your flying shells have failed you, your landward guns are dumb: + </div> + <div class="line"> + Since earth hath naught availed you, these skies be open! Come, + </div> + <div class="line"> + Where, wild to meet and mate you, flame in their beaks for breath, + </div> + <div class="line"> + Black doves! the white hawks wait you on the wind-tossed + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + boughs of death. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + These boughs be cold without you, our hearts are hot for this, + </div> + <div class="line"> + Our wings shall beat about you, our scorching breath shall kiss: + </div> + <div class="line"> + Till, fraught with that we gave you, fulfilled of our desire, + </div> + <div class="line"> + You bank,--too late to save you from biting beaks of fire,-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Turn sideways from your lover, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Shudder and swerve and run, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Tilt; stagger; and plunge over + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Ablaze against the sun,-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Doves dead in air, who clomb to dare + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + The hawks that guide the gun! + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="signals">SIGNALS</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + The hot wax drips from the flares + </div> + <div class="line"> + On the scrawled pink forms that litter + </div> + <div class="line"> + The bench where he sits; the glitter + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Of stars is framed by the sandbags atop of the dug-out stairs. + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + And the lagging watch-hands creep; + </div> + <div class="line"> + And his cloaked mates murmur in sleep,-- + </div> + <div class="line"> + Forms he can wake with a kick,-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + And he hears, as he plays with the pressel-switch, the strapped + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + receiver click + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + On his ear that listens, listens; + </div> + <div class="line"> + And the candle-flicker glistens + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + On the rounded brass of the switch-board where the red wires + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + cluster thick. + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Wires from the earth, from the air; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Wires that whisper and chatter + </div> + <div class="line"> + At night, when the trench-rats patter + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + And nibble among the rations and scuttle back to their lair; + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Wires that are never at rest,-- + </div> + <div class="line"> + For the linesmen tap them and test, + </div> + <div class="line"> + And ever they tremble with tone:-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + And he knows from a hundred signals the buzzing call of his own, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + The breaks and the vibrant stresses,-- + </div> + <div class="line"> + The Z and the G and the S's + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + That call his hand to the answering key and his mouth to the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + microphone. + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + For always the laid guns fret + </div> + <div class="line"> + On the words that his mouth shall utter, + </div> + <div class="line"> + When rifle and Maxim stutter + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + And the rockets volley to starward from the spurting parapet; + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + And always his ear must hark + </div> + <div class="line"> + To the voices out of the dark,-- + </div> + <div class="line"> + For the whisper over the wire, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + From the bombed and the battered trenches where the wounded moan + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + in the mire,-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + For a sign to waken the thunder + </div> + <div class="line"> + Which shatters the night in sunder + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + With the flash of the leaping muzzles and the beat of battery-fire. + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="the-observers">THE OBSERVERS</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Ere the last light that leaps the night has hung and shone and died, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + While yet the breast-high fog of dawn is swathed about the plain, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + By hedge and track our slaves go back, the waning stars for guide, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Eyes of our mouths; the mists have cleared, the guns would speak again! + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Faint on the ears that strain to hear, their orders trickle down + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + "Degrees--twelve--left of zero line--corrector one three eight-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Three thousand." ... Shift our trails and lift the muzzles that + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + shall drown + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + The rifle's idle chatter when our sendings detonate. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Sending or still, these serve our will; the hidden eyes that mark + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + From gutted farm, from laddered tree that scans the furrowed slope, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + From coigns of slag whose pit-ropes sag on burrowed ways and dark, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + In open trench where sandbags hold the steady periscope. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Waking, they know the instant foe, the bullets phutting by, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + The blurring lens, the sodden map, the wires that leak or break! + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Sleeping, they dream of shells that scream adown a sunless sky-- + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + And the splinters patter round them in their dug-outs as they wake. + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Not theirs, the wet glad bayonet, the red and racing hour, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + The rush that clears the bombing-post with knife and hand-grenade; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Not theirs the zest when, steel to breast, the last survivors cower,-- + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Yet can ye hold the ground ye won, save these be there to aid? + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + These, that observe the shell's far swerve, these of the quiet voice, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + That bids "go on," repeats the range, corrects for fuse or line... + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Though dour the task their masters ask, what room for thought or choice? + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + This is ours by right of service, heedless gift of youthful eyne! + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Careless they give while yet they live; the dead we tasked too sore + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Bear witness we were naught begrudged of riches or of youth; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Careless they gave; across their grave our calling salvoes roar, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + And those we maimed come back to us in proof our dead speak truth! + </div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst" id="ammunition-column">AMMUNITION COLUMN</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">I am only a cog in a giant machine, a link of an endless chain:--</em> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">And the rounds are drawn, and the rounds are fired,</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">and the empties return again;</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">'Railroad, lorry, and limber; battery, column, and park;</em> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">'To the shelf where the set fuse waits the breech, from</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">the quay where the shells embark.</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + We have watered and fed, and eaten our beef; the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + long dull day drags by, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + As I sit here watching our "Archibalds" <em class="italics">strafing</em> an empty sky; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Puff and flash on the far-off blue round the speck + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + one guesses the plane-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Smoke and spark of the gun-machine that is fed by the endless chain. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + I am only a cog in a giant machine, a little link in the chain, + </div> + <div class="line"> + Waiting a word from the wagon-lines that the guns are hungry again:-- + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Column-wagon to battery-wagon, and battery-wagon to gun;</em> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">To the loader kneeling 'twixt trail and wheel from the</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">shops where the steam-lathes run.</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + There's a lone mule braying against the line where + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + the mud cakes fetlock-deep! + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + There's a lone soul humming a hint of a song in + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + the barn where the drivers sleep; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + And I hear the pash of the orderly's horse as he + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + canters him down the lane-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Another cog in the gun-machine, a link in the selfsame chain. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + I am only a cog in a giant machine, but a vital link in the chain; + </div> + <div class="line"> + And the Captain has sent from the wagon-line to + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + fill his wagons again;-- + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">From wagon-limber to gunpit dump; from loader's forearm at breech</em> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">To the working party that melts away when the shrapnel</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">bullets screech.--</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + So the restless section pulls out once more in column + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + of route from the right, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + At the tail of a blood-red afternoon; so the flux of another night + </div> + <div class="line"> + Bears back the wagons we fill at dawn to the sleeping column again... + </div> + <div class="line"> + Cog on cog in the gun-machine, link on link in the chain! + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <div class="center large line-block noindent outermost" id="the-voice-of-the-guns"> + <div class="line"> + THE VOICE OF THE GUNS + </div> + </div> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div><!-- --> + <blockquote> + <div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + We are the guns, and your masters! Saw ye our flashes? + </div> + <div class="line"> + Heard ye the scream of our shells in the night, and the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + shuddering crashes? + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Saw ye our work by the roadside, the gray wounded lying, + </div> + <div class="line"> + Moaning to God that he made them--the maimed and the dying? + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Husbands or sons, + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Fathers or lovers, we break them! We are the guns! + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + We are the guns and ye serve us! Dare ye grow weary, + </div> + <div class="line"> + Steadfast at nighttime, at noontime; or waking, when dawn + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + winds blow dreary + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Over the fields and the flats and the reeds of the barrier water, + </div> + <div class="line"> + To wait on the hour of our choosing, the minute decided for slaughter? + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Swift the clock runs; + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Yes, to the ultimate second. Stand to your guns! + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + We are the guns and we need you! Here in the timbered + </div> + <div class="line"> + Pits that are screened by the crest and the copse + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + where at dusk ye unlimbered, + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Pits that one found us--and, finding, gave life (did + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + he flinch from the giving?); + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Laboured by moonlight when wraith of the dead + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + brooded yet o'er the living, + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Ere with the sun's + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Rising the sorrowful spirit abandoned its guns. + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Who but the guns shall avenge him? Strip us for action! + </div> + <div class="line"> + Load us and lay to the centremost hair of the dial-sight's refraction. + </div> + <div class="line"> + Set your quick hands to our levers to compass the sped soul's assoiling; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Brace your taut limbs to the shock when the thrust + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + of the barrel recoiling + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Deafens and stuns! + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Vengeance is ours for our servants. Trust ye the guns! + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Least of our bond-slaves or greatest, grudge ye the burden? + </div> + <div class="line"> + Hard is this service of ours which has only our service for guerdon: + </div> + <div class="line"> + Grow the limbs lax, and unsteady the hands, which + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + aforetime we trusted; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Flawed, the clear crystal of sight; and the clean + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + steel of hardihood rusted? + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Dominant ones,</em> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Are we not tried serfs and proven--true to our guns?</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Ye are the guns! Are we worthy? Shall not these speak for us,</em> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Out of the woods where the torn trees are slashed with</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">the vain bolts that seek for us,</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Thunder of batteries firing in unison, swish of shell flighting,</em> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Hissing that rushes to silence and breaks to the thud of alighting?</em> + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Death that outruns</em> + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + <em class="italics">Horseman and foot? Are we justified? Answer, O guns!</em> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Yea! by your works are ye justified,--toil unrelieved; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Manifold labours, coördinate each to the sending achieved; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Discipline, not of the feet but the soul, unremitting, unfeigned; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Tortures unholy by flame and by maiming, known, faced, and disdained; + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Courage that shuns + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Only foolhardiness;--even by these are ye worthy your guns! + </div> + </div> + <div class="line-block outermost"> + <div class="line"> + Wherefore--and unto ye only--power has been given; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Yea! beyond man, over men, over desolate cities and riven; + </div> + <div class="line"> + Yea! beyond space, over earth and the seas and the + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + sky's high dominions; + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Yea! beyond time, over Hell and the fiends and + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + the Death-Angel's pinions! + </div> + <div class="inner line-block"> + <div class="line"> + Vigilant ones, + </div> + </div> + </div> + <div class="line"> + Loose them, and shatter, and spare not. We are the guns! + </div> + </div> + </div> + </blockquote> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center pfirst small">THE END</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center pfirst small">CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <div class="center transition"> + <p class="pfirst">――――</p> + </div> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center pfirst x-large">BOOKS ON THE GREAT WAR</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst"><em class="italics">Published by</em></p> + <p class="center large pnext">Houghton Mifflin Company</p> + <p class="pnext">Thrilling stories of real adventure; graphic pictures of the fighting by men who actually fought; notable volumes dealing with the larger aspects of the struggle; in short, books for every taste and on every phase of the war may be found in these pages.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst"><em class="italics">Personal Narratives</em></p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">With the French</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">A SOLDIER OF THE LEGION<br /> + E. MORLAE</p> + <p class="pnext">An incomparable account of the great offensive of September, 1915; graphic, thrilling, and filled with the Foreign Legion's own dare-devil spirit. With frontispiece.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">A HILLTOP ON THE MARNE<br /> + MILDRED ALDRICH</p> + <p class="pnext">"Perhaps the straightest and most charming book written on a single aspect of the war."--<em class="italics">The New Republic</em>. Illustrated. $1.25 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">With the British</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND<br /> + IAN HAY</p> + <p class="pnext">The story of a British volunteer. Called <em class="italics">the greatest book of the war</em> by the leading English papers. With frontispiece. $1.50 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">KITCHENER'S MOB<br /> + JAMES NORMAN HALL</p> + <p class="pnext">The graphic and uncensored account of the adventures of an American volunteer in Kitchener's Army. Illustrated. $1.25 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">In Belgium</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">BELGIUM'S AGONY<br /> + EMILE VERHAEREN</p> + <p class="pnext">The story of what Belgium has endured and how she has endured it, told by her greatest poet. $1.25 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">THE LOG OF A NON-COMBATANT<br /> + HORACE GREEN</p> + <p class="pnext">"A lively, readable narrative of personal experiences, thrilling, painful, humorous."--<em class="italics">Churchman</em>. Illustrated. $1.25 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">In Germany</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">TO RUHLEBEN AND BACK<br /> + GEOFFREY PYKE</p> + <p class="pnext">The story of a young Englishman's escape from a detention camp and flight across Germany. One of the most picturesque and thrilling narratives of the war. Illustrated. $1.50 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">In Italy</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE WORLD DECISION<br /> + ROBERT HERRICK</p> + <p class="pnext">Contains a graphic, first-hand account of Italy's entrance into the war, as well as a remarkable analysis of the larger aspects of the struggle. $1.25 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">With the Austrians</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">FOUR WEEKS IN THE TRENCHES<br /> + FRITZ KREISLER</p> + <p class="pnext">"Filled with memorable scenes and striking descriptions. It will stand as a picture of war."--<em class="italics">New York Globe</em>. Illustrated. $1.00 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">With the Russians</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">DAY BY DAY WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY<br /> + BERNARD PARES</p> + <p class="pnext">"A wonderful narrative. When the history of this great war comes to be written it will be an invaluable document."--<em class="italics">London Morning Post</em>. Illustrated. $2.50 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">With the Japanese</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE FALL OF TSINGTAU<br /> + JEFFERSON JONES</p> + <p class="pnext">A remarkable study of war and diplomacy in the Orient that "should be read by every American who is interested in the future of our status in the Far East."--<em class="italics">New York Tribune</em>. Illustrated. $1.75 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">On the Ocean</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE LUSITANIA'S LAST VOYAGE<br /> + C. E. LAURIAT, JR.</p> + <p class="pnext">"Not only a document of historic interest, but a thrilling narrative of the greatest disaster of its kind."--<em class="italics">The Dial</em>. Illustrated. $1.00 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst"><em class="italics">Causes and Results of the War</em></p> + <p class="center medium pnext">Diplomatic</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE DIPLOMACY OF THE WAR OF 1914: The Beginnings of the War<br /> + ELLERY C. STOWELL</p> + <p class="pnext">"The most complete statement that has been given."--LORD BRYCE. "The whole tangled web of diplomacy is made crystal clear in this really statesmanlike book."--<em class="italics">New York Times</em>. $5.00 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">PAN-GERMANISM<br /> + ROLAND G. USHER</p> + <p class="pnext">The war has borne out in a remarkable way the accuracy of this analysis of the game of world politics that preceded the resort to arms.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">THIRTY YEARS<br /> + SIR THOMAS BARCLAY</p> + <p class="pnext">The story of the forming of the Entente between France and England told by the man largely responsible for its existence. $3.50 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">Financial</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE RULING CASTE AND FRENZIED TRADE IN GERMANY<br /> + MAURICE MILLIOUD</p> + <p class="pnext">Shows the part played by the over-extension of German trade in bringing on the war. $1.00 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">THE AUDACIOUS WAR<br /> + C. W. BARRON</p> + <p class="pnext">An analysis of the commercial and financial aspects of the war by one of America's keenest business men. "Not only of prime importance but of breathless interest."--<em class="italics">Philadelphia Public Ledger</em>. $1.00 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst"><em class="italics">America and the War</em></p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">The Diplomatic Aspects</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE CHALLENGE OF THE FUTURE<br /> + ROLAND G. USHER</p> + <p class="pnext">"The most cogent analysis of national prospects and possibilities any student of world politics has yet written."--<em class="italics">Boston Herald</em>. $1.75 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">The Military Aspects</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">ARE WE READY?<br /> + H. D. WHEELER</p> + <p class="pnext">A sane constructive study of our unpreparedness for war. "You have performed a real service to the American people."--HENRY T. STIMSON, Former Secretary of War. $1.50 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">The Moral Aspects</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE ROAD TOWARD PEACE<br /> + CHARLES W. ELIOT</p> + <p class="pnext">"Few writers have discussed the way and means of establishing peace and friendly relations among nations with more sanity and far-reaching estimate of values."--<em class="italics">Detroit Free Press</em>. $1.00 net.</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">GERMANY VERSUS CIVILIZATION<br /> + WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER</p> + <p class="pnext">A biting indictment of Prussianism and an analysis of the meaning of the war to America. $1.00 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">COUNTER-CURRENTS<br /> + AGNES REPPLIER</p> + <p class="pnext">Dealing mainly with issues arising from the war, these essays will take their place among the most brilliant of contemporary comment. $1.25 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst"><em class="italics">Miscellaneous</em></p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">Fiction</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">THE FIELD OF HONOUR<br /> + H. FIELDING-HALL</p> + <p class="pnext">Short stories dealing with the spirit of England at war. "Admirably written without one superfluous word to mar the directness of their appeal."--<em class="italics">New York Times</em>. $1.50 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">Poetry</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">A SONG OF THE GUNS<br /> + GILBERT FRANKAU</p> + <p class="pnext">Vivid, powerful verse written to the roar of guns on the western front, by a son of Frank Danby, the novelist.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">Biography</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">KITCHENER, ORGANIZER OF VICTORY<br /> + HAROLD BEGBIE</p> + <p class="pnext">The first full and satisfactory account of the life and deeds of England's great War Minister. Suppressed in England for its frankness. Illustrated. $1.25.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">History</p> + <p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">IS WAR DIMINISHING?<br /> + FREDERICK ADAMS WOODS, M.D., AND ALEXANDER BALTZLEY</p> + <p class="pnext">The first complete and authoritative study of the question of whether warfare has increased or diminished in the last five centuries. $1.00 net.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="center large pfirst white-space-pre-line">HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> + BOSTON AND NEW YORK</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div> + <p class="center medium pfirst">The New Poetry Series</p> + <p class="center pnext small">PUBLISHED BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div> + <p class="left medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">IRRADIATIONS. SAND AND SPRAY. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.<br /> + SOME IMAGIST POETS.<br /> + JAPANESE LYRICS. Translated by LAFCADIO HEARN.<br /> + AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING.<br /> + THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. EMILE VERHAEREN.<br /> + INTERFLOW. GEOFFREY C. FABER.<br /> + STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. PAUL SHIVELL.<br /> + IDOLS. WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG.<br /> + TURNS AND MOVIES, AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE. CONRAD AIKEN.<br /> + ROADS. GRACE FALLOW NORTON.<br /> + GOBLINS AND PAGODAS. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.<br /> + SOME IMAGIST POETS, 1916.<br /> + A SONG OF THE GUNS. GILBERT FRANKAU.</p> + <div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"></div><!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> + <div class="backmatter"></div> + <div class="cleardoublepage"></div> + </div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40345 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/40345-h/40345-h.html b/40345-h/40345-h.html deleted file mode 100644 index c72fe68..0000000 --- a/40345-h/40345-h.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1919 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?> -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC '-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN' 'http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd'> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Docutils 0.8.1: http://docutils.sourceforge.net/" /> -<style type="text/css"> -/* -Project Gutenberg common docutils stylesheet. - -This stylesheet contains styles common to HTML and EPUB. 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padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -</style> -<title>A SONG OF THE GUNS</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="A Song of the Guns" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Gilbert Frankau" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1916" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="40345" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2012-07-26" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="A Song of the Guns" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="A Song of the Guns" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="song.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2012-07-27T03:22:58.046610+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40345" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Gilbert Frankau" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2012-07-26" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.19b4 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="a-song-of-the-guns"> -<h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">A SONG OF THE GUNS</h1> - -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en noindent pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst">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 <a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a> -included with this eBook or online at -<a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a>.</p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container noindent white-space-pre-line" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst white-space-pre-line"><span class="white-space-pre-line">Title: A Song of the Guns<br /> -<br /> -Author: Gilbert Frankau<br /> -<br /> -Release Date: July 26, 2012 [EBook #40345]<br /> -<br /> -Language: English<br /> -<br /> -Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line">*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK <span>A SONG OF THE GUNS</span> ***</p> -<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="width: 51%" id="figure-6"> -<span id="cover"></span><img class="align-center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=" " src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption figure"> -Cover</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None center container titlepage white-space-pre-line"> -<p class="pfirst white-space-pre-line x-large">A SONG OF THE GUNS</p> -<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">BY</p> -<p class="large pnext white-space-pre-line">GILBERT FRANKAU, R.S.A.</p> -<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> -HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> -The Riverside Press Cambridge<br /> -1916</p> -<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None center container verso white-space-pre-line"> -<p class="center pfirst small white-space-pre-line">COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY GILBERT FRANKAU<br /> -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> -<em class="italics white-space-pre-line">Published April 1916</em></p> -<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -</div> -<!-- --> -<p class="center medium pfirst">NOTE</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><em class="italics">A Song of the Guns</em> was written under what are -probably the most remarkable conditions in which a poem has -ever been composed. The author, who is now serving in -Flanders, was present at the battle of Loos, and during a -lull in the fighting--when the gunners, who had been sleepless -for five nights, were resting like tired dogs under their -guns--he jotted down the main theme of the poem. After -the battle the artillery brigade to which he was attached was -ordered to Ypres, and it was during the long trench warfare -in this district, within sight of the ruined tower of Ypres -Cathedral, that the poem was finally completed. The last -three stanzas were written at midnight in Brigade -Headquarters with the German shells screaming over into the -ruined town.</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst">CONTENTS</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="left medium pfirst white-space-pre-line"><a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#the-voice-of-the-slaves">The Voice of the Slaves</a><br /> -<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#headquarters">Headquarters</a><br /> -<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#gun-teams">Gun-Teams</a><br /> -<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#eyes-in-the-air">Eyes in the Air</a><br /> -<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#signals">Signals</a><br /> -<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#the-observers">The Observers</a><br /> -<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#ammunition-column">Ammunition Column</a><br /> -<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#the-voice-of-the-guns">The Voice of the Guns</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="id1">A SONG OF THE GUNS</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">These are our masters, the slim</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Grim muzzles that irk in the pit;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">That chafe for the rushing of wheels,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">For the teams plunging madly to bit</div> -</div> -<div class="line">As the gunners wing down to unkey,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">For the trails sweeping half-circle-right,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">For the six breech-blocks clashing as one</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">To a target viewed clear on the sight--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Gray masses the shells search and tear</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Into fragments that bunch as they run--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">For the hour of the red battle-harvest,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">The dream of the slaves of the gun!</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">We have bartered our souls to the guns;</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Every fibre of body and brain</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Have we trained to them, chained to them. Serfs?</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Aye! but proud of the weight of our chain,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Of our backs that are bowed to their workings,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">To hide them and guard and disguise,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Of our ears that are deafened with service,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Of hands that are scarred, and of eyes</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Grown hawklike with marking their prey,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Of wings that are slashed as with swords</div> -</div> -<div class="line">When we hover, the turn of a blade</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">From the death that is sweet to our lords.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="the-voice-of-the-slaves">THE VOICE OF THE SLAVES</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">By the ears and the eyes and the brain,</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">By the limbs and the hands and the wings,</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">We are slaves to our masters the guns;</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">But their slaves are the masters of kings!</em></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="headquarters">HEADQUARTERS</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">A league and a league from the trenches,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">from the traversed maze of the lines,--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Where daylong the sniper watches and daylong the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">bullet whines,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">And the cratered earth is in travail with mines and</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">with countermines,--</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Here, where haply some woman dreamed, (are</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">those her roses that bloom</div> -</div> -<div class="line">In the garden beyond the windows of my littered</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">working-room?)</div> -</div> -<div class="line">We have decked the map for our masters as a bride</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">is decked for the groom.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Here, on each numbered lettered square,--cross-road</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">and mound and wire,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Loophole, redoubt, and emplacement, are the targets</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">their mouths desire,--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Gay with purples and browns and blues, have we</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">traced them their arcs of fire.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">And ever the type-keys clatter; and ever our keen</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">wires bring</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Word from the watchers a-crouch below, word</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">from the watchers a-wing;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">And ever we hear the distant growl of our hid guns</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">thundering;</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Hear it hardly, and turn again to our maps, where</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">the trench-lines crawl,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Red on the gray and each with a sign for the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">ranging shrapnel's fall--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Snakes that our masters shall scotch at dawn, as is</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">written here on the wall.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">For the weeks of our waiting draw to a close....</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">There is scarcely a leaf astir</div> -</div> -<div class="line">In the garden beyond my windows where the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">twilight shadows blur</div> -</div> -<div class="line">The blaze of some woman's roses....</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">"Bombardment orders, sir."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="gun-teams">GUN-TEAMS</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Their rugs are sodden, their heads are down, their</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">tails are turned to the storm.</div> -</div> -<div class="line">(Would you know them, you that groomed them</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">in the sleek fat days of peace,--</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">When the tiles rang to their pawings in the lighted</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">stalls and warm,--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Now the foul clay cakes on breeching-strap and</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">clogs the quick-release?)</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">The blown rain stings, there is never a star, the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">tracks are rivers of slime.</div> -</div> -<div class="line">(You must harness up by guesswork with a</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">failing torch for light,</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Instep-deep in unmade standings, for it's active-service time,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">And our resting weeks are over, and we move</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">the guns to-night.)</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">The iron tires slither, the traces sag; their blind</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">hooves stumble and slide;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">They are war-worn, they are weary, soaked with</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">sweat and sopped with rain.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">(You must hold them, you must help them, swing</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">your lead and centre wide</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Where the greasy granite pave peters out to</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">squelching drain.)</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">There is shrapnel bursting a mile in front on the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">road that the guns must take:</div> -</div> -<div class="line">(You are nervous, you are thoughtful, you are</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">shifting in your seat,</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">As you watch the ragged feathers flicker orange</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">flame and break)--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">But the teams are pulling steady down the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">battered village street.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">You have shod them cold, and their coats are long,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">and their bellies gray with the mud;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">They have done with gloss and polish, but the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">fighting heart's unbroke.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">We, who saw them hobbling after us down white</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">roads flecked with blood,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Patient, wondering why we left them, till we</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">lost them in the smoke;</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Who have felt them shiver between our knees,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">when the shells rain black from the skies,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">When the bursting terrors find us and the lines</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">stampede as one;</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Who have watched the pierced limbs quiver and</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">the pain in stricken eyes,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Know the worth of humble servants, foolish-faithful</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">to their gun!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="eyes-in-the-air">EYES IN THE AIR</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Our guns are a league behind us, our target a mile below,</div> -<div class="line">And there's never a cloud to blind us from the haunts of</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">our lurking foe--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Sunk pit whence his shrapnel tore us, support-trench crest-concealed,</div> -<div class="line">As clear as the charts before us, his ramparts lie revealed.</div> -<div class="line">His panicked watchers spy us, a droning threat in the void;</div> -<div class="line">Their whistling shells outfly us--puff upon puff, deployed</div> -<div class="line">Across the green beneath us, across the flanking grey,</div> -<div class="line">In fume and fire to sheathe us and balk us of our prey.</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Below, beyond, above her,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Their iron web is spun!</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Flicked but unsnared we hover,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Edged planes against the sun:</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Eyes in the air above his lair,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">The hawks that guide the gun!</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">No word from earth may reach us save, white against the ground,</div> -<div class="line">The strips outspread to teach us whose ears are deaf to sound:</div> -<div class="line">But down the winds that sear us, athwart our engine's shriek,</div> -<div class="line">We send--and know they hear us, the ranging guns we speak.</div> -<div class="line">Our visored eyeballs show us their answering pennant, broke</div> -<div class="line">Eight thousand feet below us, a whirl of flame-stabbed smoke--</div> -<div class="line">The burst that hangs to guide us, while numbed gloved fingers tap</div> -<div class="line">From wireless key beside us the circles of the map.</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Line--target--short or over--</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Comes, plain as clock-hands run,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Word from the birds that hover,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Unblinded, tail to sun--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Word out of air to range them fair,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">From hawks that guide the gun!</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Your flying shells have failed you, your landward guns are dumb:</div> -<div class="line">Since earth hath naught availed you, these skies be open! Come,</div> -<div class="line">Where, wild to meet and mate you, flame in their beaks for breath,</div> -<div class="line">Black doves! the white hawks wait you on the wind-tossed</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">boughs of death.</div> -</div> -<div class="line">These boughs be cold without you, our hearts are hot for this,</div> -<div class="line">Our wings shall beat about you, our scorching breath shall kiss:</div> -<div class="line">Till, fraught with that we gave you, fulfilled of our desire,</div> -<div class="line">You bank,--too late to save you from biting beaks of fire,--</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Turn sideways from your lover,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Shudder and swerve and run,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Tilt; stagger; and plunge over</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Ablaze against the sun,--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Doves dead in air, who clomb to dare</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">The hawks that guide the gun!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="signals">SIGNALS</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">The hot wax drips from the flares</div> -<div class="line">On the scrawled pink forms that litter</div> -<div class="line">The bench where he sits; the glitter</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Of stars is framed by the sandbags atop of the dug-out stairs.</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">And the lagging watch-hands creep;</div> -<div class="line">And his cloaked mates murmur in sleep,--</div> -<div class="line">Forms he can wake with a kick,--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">And he hears, as he plays with the pressel-switch, the strapped</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">receiver click</div> -</div> -<div class="line">On his ear that listens, listens;</div> -<div class="line">And the candle-flicker glistens</div> -</div> -<div class="line">On the rounded brass of the switch-board where the red wires</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">cluster thick.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Wires from the earth, from the air;</div> -<div class="line">Wires that whisper and chatter</div> -<div class="line">At night, when the trench-rats patter</div> -</div> -<div class="line">And nibble among the rations and scuttle back to their lair;</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Wires that are never at rest,--</div> -<div class="line">For the linesmen tap them and test,</div> -<div class="line">And ever they tremble with tone:--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">And he knows from a hundred signals the buzzing call of his own,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">The breaks and the vibrant stresses,--</div> -<div class="line">The Z and the G and the S's</div> -</div> -<div class="line">That call his hand to the answering key and his mouth to the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">microphone.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">For always the laid guns fret</div> -<div class="line">On the words that his mouth shall utter,</div> -<div class="line">When rifle and Maxim stutter</div> -</div> -<div class="line">And the rockets volley to starward from the spurting parapet;</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">And always his ear must hark</div> -<div class="line">To the voices out of the dark,--</div> -<div class="line">For the whisper over the wire,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">From the bombed and the battered trenches where the wounded moan</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">in the mire,--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">For a sign to waken the thunder</div> -<div class="line">Which shatters the night in sunder</div> -</div> -<div class="line">With the flash of the leaping muzzles and the beat of battery-fire.</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="the-observers">THE OBSERVERS</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Ere the last light that leaps the night has hung and shone and died,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">While yet the breast-high fog of dawn is swathed about the plain,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">By hedge and track our slaves go back, the waning stars for guide,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Eyes of our mouths; the mists have cleared, the guns would speak again!</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Faint on the ears that strain to hear, their orders trickle down</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">"Degrees--twelve--left of zero line--corrector one three eight--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Three thousand." ... Shift our trails and lift the muzzles that</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">shall drown</div> -</div> -<div class="line">The rifle's idle chatter when our sendings detonate.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Sending or still, these serve our will; the hidden eyes that mark</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">From gutted farm, from laddered tree that scans the furrowed slope,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">From coigns of slag whose pit-ropes sag on burrowed ways and dark,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">In open trench where sandbags hold the steady periscope.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Waking, they know the instant foe, the bullets phutting by,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">The blurring lens, the sodden map, the wires that leak or break!</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Sleeping, they dream of shells that scream adown a sunless sky--</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">And the splinters patter round them in their dug-outs as they wake.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Not theirs, the wet glad bayonet, the red and racing hour,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">The rush that clears the bombing-post with knife and hand-grenade;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Not theirs the zest when, steel to breast, the last survivors cower,--</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Yet can ye hold the ground ye won, save these be there to aid?</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">These, that observe the shell's far swerve, these of the quiet voice,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">That bids "go on," repeats the range, corrects for fuse or line...</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Though dour the task their masters ask, what room for thought or choice?</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">This is ours by right of service, heedless gift of youthful eyne!</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Careless they give while yet they live; the dead we tasked too sore</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Bear witness we were naught begrudged of riches or of youth;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Careless they gave; across their grave our calling salvoes roar,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">And those we maimed come back to us in proof our dead speak truth!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst" id="ammunition-column">AMMUNITION COLUMN</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">I am only a cog in a giant machine, a link of an endless chain:--</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">And the rounds are drawn, and the rounds are fired,</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">and the empties return again;</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">'Railroad, lorry, and limber; battery, column, and park;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">'To the shelf where the set fuse waits the breech, from</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">the quay where the shells embark.</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line">We have watered and fed, and eaten our beef; the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">long dull day drags by,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">As I sit here watching our "Archibalds" <em class="italics">strafing</em> an empty sky;</div> -<div class="line">Puff and flash on the far-off blue round the speck</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">one guesses the plane--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Smoke and spark of the gun-machine that is fed by the endless chain.</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">I am only a cog in a giant machine, a little link in the chain,</div> -<div class="line">Waiting a word from the wagon-lines that the guns are hungry again:--</div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Column-wagon to battery-wagon, and battery-wagon to gun;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">To the loader kneeling 'twixt trail and wheel from the</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">shops where the steam-lathes run.</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line">There's a lone mule braying against the line where</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">the mud cakes fetlock-deep!</div> -</div> -<div class="line">There's a lone soul humming a hint of a song in</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">the barn where the drivers sleep;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">And I hear the pash of the orderly's horse as he</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">canters him down the lane--</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Another cog in the gun-machine, a link in the selfsame chain.</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">I am only a cog in a giant machine, but a vital link in the chain;</div> -<div class="line">And the Captain has sent from the wagon-line to</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">fill his wagons again;--</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">From wagon-limber to gunpit dump; from loader's forearm at breech</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">To the working party that melts away when the shrapnel</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">bullets screech.--</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line">So the restless section pulls out once more in column</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">of route from the right,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">At the tail of a blood-red afternoon; so the flux of another night</div> -<div class="line">Bears back the wagons we fill at dawn to the sleeping column again...</div> -<div class="line">Cog on cog in the gun-machine, link on link in the chain!</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost" id="the-voice-of-the-guns"> -<div class="line">THE VOICE OF THE GUNS</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">We are the guns, and your masters! Saw ye our flashes?</div> -<div class="line">Heard ye the scream of our shells in the night, and the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">shuddering crashes?</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Saw ye our work by the roadside, the gray wounded lying,</div> -<div class="line">Moaning to God that he made them--the maimed and the dying?</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Husbands or sons,</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Fathers or lovers, we break them! We are the guns!</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">We are the guns and ye serve us! Dare ye grow weary,</div> -<div class="line">Steadfast at nighttime, at noontime; or waking, when dawn</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">winds blow dreary</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Over the fields and the flats and the reeds of the barrier water,</div> -<div class="line">To wait on the hour of our choosing, the minute decided for slaughter?</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Swift the clock runs;</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Yes, to the ultimate second. Stand to your guns!</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">We are the guns and we need you! Here in the timbered</div> -<div class="line">Pits that are screened by the crest and the copse</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">where at dusk ye unlimbered,</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Pits that one found us--and, finding, gave life (did</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">he flinch from the giving?);</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Laboured by moonlight when wraith of the dead</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">brooded yet o'er the living,</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Ere with the sun's</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Rising the sorrowful spirit abandoned its guns.</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Who but the guns shall avenge him? Strip us for action!</div> -<div class="line">Load us and lay to the centremost hair of the dial-sight's refraction.</div> -<div class="line">Set your quick hands to our levers to compass the sped soul's assoiling;</div> -<div class="line">Brace your taut limbs to the shock when the thrust</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">of the barrel recoiling</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Deafens and stuns!</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Vengeance is ours for our servants. Trust ye the guns!</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Least of our bond-slaves or greatest, grudge ye the burden?</div> -<div class="line">Hard is this service of ours which has only our service for guerdon:</div> -<div class="line">Grow the limbs lax, and unsteady the hands, which</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">aforetime we trusted;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Flawed, the clear crystal of sight; and the clean</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">steel of hardihood rusted?</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Dominant ones,</em></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Are we not tried serfs and proven--true to our guns?</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Ye are the guns! Are we worthy? Shall not these speak for us,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Out of the woods where the torn trees are slashed with</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">the vain bolts that seek for us,</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Thunder of batteries firing in unison, swish of shell flighting,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Hissing that rushes to silence and breaks to the thud of alighting?</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Death that outruns</em></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Horseman and foot? Are we justified? Answer, O guns!</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Yea! by your works are ye justified,--toil unrelieved;</div> -<div class="line">Manifold labours, coördinate each to the sending achieved;</div> -<div class="line">Discipline, not of the feet but the soul, unremitting, unfeigned;</div> -<div class="line">Tortures unholy by flame and by maiming, known, faced, and disdained;</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Courage that shuns</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Only foolhardiness;--even by these are ye worthy your guns!</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">Wherefore--and unto ye only--power has been given;</div> -<div class="line">Yea! beyond man, over men, over desolate cities and riven;</div> -<div class="line">Yea! beyond space, over earth and the seas and the</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">sky's high dominions;</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Yea! beyond time, over Hell and the fiends and</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">the Death-Angel's pinions!</div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line">Vigilant ones,</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line">Loose them, and shatter, and spare not. We are the guns!</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst small">THE END</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst small">CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS -U . S . A</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="center transition"> -<p class="pfirst">――――</p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst x-large">BOOKS ON THE GREAT WAR</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center medium pfirst"><em class="italics">Published by</em></p> -<p class="center large pnext">Houghton Mifflin Company</p> -<p class="pnext">Thrilling stories of real adventure; graphic -pictures of the fighting by men who actually -fought; notable volumes dealing with the larger -aspects of the struggle; in short, books for every taste -and on every phase of the war may be found in these -pages.</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center large pfirst"><em class="italics">Personal Narratives</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center medium pfirst">With the French</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">A SOLDIER OF THE LEGION<br /> -E. 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Translated by LAFCADIO HEARN.<br /> -AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING.<br /> -THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. EMILE VERHAEREN.<br /> -INTERFLOW. GEOFFREY C. FABER.<br /> -STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. PAUL SHIVELL.<br /> -IDOLS. WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG.<br /> -TURNS AND MOVIES, AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE. CONRAD AIKEN.<br /> -ROADS. GRACE FALLOW NORTON.<br /> -GOBLINS AND PAGODAS. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.<br /> -SOME IMAGIST POETS, 1916.<br /> -A SONG OF THE GUNS. 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-
-.. meta::
- :PG.Id: 40345
- :PG.Title: A Song of the Guns
- :PG.Released: 2012-07-26
- :PG.Rights: Public Domain
- :PG.Producer: Al Haines
- :DC.Creator: Gilbert Frankau
- :DC.Title: A Song of the Guns
- :DC.Language: en
- :DC.Created: 1916
- :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg
-
-==================
-A SONG OF THE GUNS
-==================
-
-.. clearpage::
-
-.. pgheader::
-
-.. container:: coverpage
-
- .. vspace:: 3
-
- .. _`Cover`:
-
- .. figure:: images/img-cover.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: Cover
-
- Cover
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line
-
- .. class:: x-large
-
- A SONG OF THE GUNS
-
- .. vspace:: 2
-
- .. class:: medium
-
- BY
-
- .. class:: large
-
- GILBERT FRANKAU, R.S.A.
-
- .. vspace:: 4
-
- .. class:: medium
-
- BOSTON AND NEW YORK
- HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
- The Riverside Press Cambridge
- 1916
-
- .. vspace:: 4
-
-
-.. container:: verso center white-space-pre-line
-
- .. class:: center small
-
- COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY GILBERT FRANKAU
- ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
- *Published April 1916*
-
- .. vspace:: 3
-
-..
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- NOTE
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-*A Song of the Guns* was written under what are
-probably the most remarkable conditions in which a poem has
-ever been composed. The author, who is now serving in
-Flanders, was present at the battle of Loos, and during a
-lull in the fighting--when the gunners, who had been sleepless
-for five nights, were resting like tired dogs under their
-guns--he jotted down the main theme of the poem. After
-the battle the artillery brigade to which he was attached was
-ordered to Ypres, and it was during the long trench warfare
-in this district, within sight of the ruined tower of Ypres
-Cathedral, that the poem was finally completed. The last
-three stanzas were written at midnight in Brigade
-Headquarters with the German shells screaming over into the
-ruined town.
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- CONTENTS
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: left medium white-space-pre-line
-
- `The Voice of the Slaves`_
- `Headquarters`_
- `Gun-Teams`_
- `Eyes in the Air`_
- `Signals`_
- `The Observers`_
- `Ammunition Column`_
- `The Voice of the Guns`_
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`A SONG OF THE GUNS`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- A SONG OF THE GUNS
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | These are our masters, the slim
- | Grim muzzles that irk in the pit;
- | That chafe for the rushing of wheels,
- | For the teams plunging madly to bit
- | As the gunners wing down to unkey,
- | For the trails sweeping half-circle-right,
- | For the six breech-blocks clashing as one
- | To a target viewed clear on the sight--
- | Gray masses the shells search and tear
- | Into fragments that bunch as they run--
- | For the hour of the red battle-harvest,
- | The dream of the slaves of the gun!
-
- | We have bartered our souls to the guns;
- | Every fibre of body and brain
- | Have we trained to them, chained to them. Serfs?
- | Aye! but proud of the weight of our chain,
- | Of our backs that are bowed to their workings,
- | To hide them and guard and disguise,
- | Of our ears that are deafened with service,
- | Of hands that are scarred, and of eyes
- | Grown hawklike with marking their prey,
- | Of wings that are slashed as with swords
- | When we hover, the turn of a blade
- | From the death that is sweet to our lords.
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`THE VOICE OF THE SLAVES`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- THE VOICE OF THE SLAVES
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | *By the ears and the eyes and the brain,*
- | *By the limbs and the hands and the wings,*
- | *We are slaves to our masters the guns;*
- | *But their slaves are the masters of kings!*
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`HEADQUARTERS`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- HEADQUARTERS
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | A league and a league from the trenches,
- | from the traversed maze of the lines,--
- | Where daylong the sniper watches and daylong the
- | bullet whines,
- | And the cratered earth is in travail with mines and
- | with countermines,--
-
- | Here, where haply some woman dreamed, (are
- | those her roses that bloom
- | In the garden beyond the windows of my littered
- | working-room?)
- | We have decked the map for our masters as a bride
- | is decked for the groom.
-
- | Here, on each numbered lettered square,--cross-road
- | and mound and wire,
- | Loophole, redoubt, and emplacement, are the targets
- | their mouths desire,--
- | Gay with purples and browns and blues, have we
- | traced them their arcs of fire.
-
- | And ever the type-keys clatter; and ever our keen
- | wires bring
- | Word from the watchers a-crouch below, word
- | from the watchers a-wing;
- | And ever we hear the distant growl of our hid guns
- | thundering;
-
- | Hear it hardly, and turn again to our maps, where
- | the trench-lines crawl,
- | Red on the gray and each with a sign for the
- | ranging shrapnel's fall--
- | Snakes that our masters shall scotch at dawn, as is
- | written here on the wall.
-
- | For the weeks of our waiting draw to a close....
- | There is scarcely a leaf astir
- | In the garden beyond my windows where the
- | twilight shadows blur
- | The blaze of some woman's roses....
- | "Bombardment orders, sir."
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`GUN-TEAMS`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- GUN-TEAMS
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | Their rugs are sodden, their heads are down, their
- | tails are turned to the storm.
- | (Would you know them, you that groomed them
- | in the sleek fat days of peace,--
- | When the tiles rang to their pawings in the lighted
- | stalls and warm,--
- | Now the foul clay cakes on breeching-strap and
- | clogs the quick-release?)
-
- | The blown rain stings, there is never a star, the
- | tracks are rivers of slime.
- | (You must harness up by guesswork with a
- | failing torch for light,
- | Instep-deep in unmade standings, for it's active-service time,
- | And our resting weeks are over, and we move
- | the guns to-night.)
-
- | The iron tires slither, the traces sag; their blind
- | hooves stumble and slide;
- | They are war-worn, they are weary, soaked with
- | sweat and sopped with rain.
- | (You must hold them, you must help them, swing
- | your lead and centre wide
- | Where the greasy granite pave peters out to
- | squelching drain.)
-
- | There is shrapnel bursting a mile in front on the
- | road that the guns must take:
- | (You are nervous, you are thoughtful, you are
- | shifting in your seat,
- | As you watch the ragged feathers flicker orange
- | flame and break)--
- | But the teams are pulling steady down the
- | battered village street.
-
- | You have shod them cold, and their coats are long,
- | and their bellies gray with the mud;
- | They have done with gloss and polish, but the
- | fighting heart's unbroke.
- | We, who saw them hobbling after us down white
- | roads flecked with blood,
- | Patient, wondering why we left them, till we
- | lost them in the smoke;
-
- | Who have felt them shiver between our knees,
- | when the shells rain black from the skies,
- | When the bursting terrors find us and the lines
- | stampede as one;
- | Who have watched the pierced limbs quiver and
- | the pain in stricken eyes,
- | Know the worth of humble servants, foolish-faithful
- | to their gun!
-
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`EYES IN THE AIR`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- EYES IN THE AIR
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | Our guns are a league behind us, our target a mile below,
- | And there's never a cloud to blind us from the haunts of
- | our lurking foe--
- | Sunk pit whence his shrapnel tore us, support-trench crest-concealed,
- | As clear as the charts before us, his ramparts lie revealed.
- | His panicked watchers spy us, a droning threat in the void;
- | Their whistling shells outfly us--puff upon puff, deployed
- | Across the green beneath us, across the flanking grey,
- | In fume and fire to sheathe us and balk us of our prey.
-
- | Below, beyond, above her,
- | Their iron web is spun!
- | Flicked but unsnared we hover,
- | Edged planes against the sun:
- | Eyes in the air above his lair,
- | The hawks that guide the gun!
-
- | No word from earth may reach us save, white against the ground,
- | The strips outspread to teach us whose ears are deaf to sound:
- | But down the winds that sear us, athwart our engine's shriek,
- | We send--and know they hear us, the ranging guns we speak.
- | Our visored eyeballs show us their answering pennant, broke
- | Eight thousand feet below us, a whirl of flame-stabbed smoke--
- | The burst that hangs to guide us, while numbed gloved fingers tap
- | From wireless key beside us the circles of the map.
-
- | Line--target--short or over--
- | Comes, plain as clock-hands run,
- | Word from the birds that hover,
- | Unblinded, tail to sun--
- | Word out of air to range them fair,
- | From hawks that guide the gun!
-
- | Your flying shells have failed you, your landward guns are dumb:
- | Since earth hath naught availed you, these skies be open! Come,
- | Where, wild to meet and mate you, flame in their beaks for breath,
- | Black doves! the white hawks wait you on the wind-tossed
- | boughs of death.
- | These boughs be cold without you, our hearts are hot for this,
- | Our wings shall beat about you, our scorching breath shall kiss:
- | Till, fraught with that we gave you, fulfilled of our desire,
- | You bank,--too late to save you from biting beaks of fire,--
-
- | Turn sideways from your lover,
- | Shudder and swerve and run,
- | Tilt; stagger; and plunge over
- | Ablaze against the sun,--
- | Doves dead in air, who clomb to dare
- | The hawks that guide the gun!
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`SIGNALS`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- SIGNALS
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | The hot wax drips from the flares
- | On the scrawled pink forms that litter
- | The bench where he sits; the glitter
- | Of stars is framed by the sandbags atop of the dug-out stairs.
- | And the lagging watch-hands creep;
- | And his cloaked mates murmur in sleep,--
- | Forms he can wake with a kick,--
- | And he hears, as he plays with the pressel-switch, the strapped
- | receiver click
- | On his ear that listens, listens;
- | And the candle-flicker glistens
- | On the rounded brass of the switch-board where the red wires
- | cluster thick.
-
- | Wires from the earth, from the air;
- | Wires that whisper and chatter
- | At night, when the trench-rats patter
- | And nibble among the rations and scuttle back to their lair;
- | Wires that are never at rest,--
- | For the linesmen tap them and test,
- | And ever they tremble with tone:--
- | And he knows from a hundred signals the buzzing call of his own,
- | The breaks and the vibrant stresses,--
- | The Z and the G and the S's
- | That call his hand to the answering key and his mouth to the
- | microphone.
-
- | For always the laid guns fret
- | On the words that his mouth shall utter,
- | When rifle and Maxim stutter
- | And the rockets volley to starward from the spurting parapet;
- | And always his ear must hark
- | To the voices out of the dark,--
- | For the whisper over the wire,
- | From the bombed and the battered trenches where the wounded moan
- | in the mire,--
- | For a sign to waken the thunder
- | Which shatters the night in sunder
- | With the flash of the leaping muzzles and the beat of battery-fire.
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`THE OBSERVERS`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- THE OBSERVERS
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | Ere the last light that leaps the night has hung and shone and died,
- | While yet the breast-high fog of dawn is swathed about the plain,
- | By hedge and track our slaves go back, the waning stars for guide,
- | Eyes of our mouths; the mists have cleared, the guns would speak again!
-
- | Faint on the ears that strain to hear, their orders trickle down
- | "Degrees--twelve--left of zero line--corrector one three eight--
- | Three thousand." ... Shift our trails and lift the muzzles that
- | shall drown
- | The rifle's idle chatter when our sendings detonate.
-
- | Sending or still, these serve our will; the hidden eyes that mark
- | From gutted farm, from laddered tree that scans the furrowed slope,
- | From coigns of slag whose pit-ropes sag on burrowed ways and dark,
- | In open trench where sandbags hold the steady periscope.
-
- | Waking, they know the instant foe, the bullets phutting by,
- | The blurring lens, the sodden map, the wires that leak or break!
- | Sleeping, they dream of shells that scream adown a sunless sky--
- | And the splinters patter round them in their dug-outs as they wake.
-
- | Not theirs, the wet glad bayonet, the red and racing hour,
- | The rush that clears the bombing-post with knife and hand-grenade;
- | Not theirs the zest when, steel to breast, the last survivors cower,--
- | Yet can ye hold the ground ye won, save these be there to aid?
-
- | These, that observe the shell's far swerve, these of the quiet voice,
- | That bids "go on," repeats the range, corrects for fuse or line...
- | Though dour the task their masters ask, what room for thought or choice?
- | This is ours by right of service, heedless gift of youthful eyne!
-
- | Careless they give while yet they live; the dead we tasked too sore
- | Bear witness we were naught begrudged of riches or of youth;
- | Careless they gave; across their grave our calling salvoes roar,
- | And those we maimed come back to us in proof our dead speak truth!
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`AMMUNITION COLUMN`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- AMMUNITION COLUMN
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | *I am only a cog in a giant machine, a link of an endless chain:--*
- | *And the rounds are drawn, and the rounds are fired,*
- | *and the empties return again;*
- | *'Railroad, lorry, and limber; battery, column, and park;*
- | *'To the shelf where the set fuse waits the breech, from*
- | *the quay where the shells embark.*
- | We have watered and fed, and eaten our beef; the
- | long dull day drags by,
- | As I sit here watching our "Archibalds" *strafing* an empty sky;
- | Puff and flash on the far-off blue round the speck
- | one guesses the plane--
- | Smoke and spark of the gun-machine that is fed by the endless chain.
-
- | I am only a cog in a giant machine, a little link in the chain,
- | Waiting a word from the wagon-lines that the guns are hungry again:--
- | *Column-wagon to battery-wagon, and battery-wagon to gun;*
- | *To the loader kneeling 'twixt trail and wheel from the*
- | *shops where the steam-lathes run.*
- | There's a lone mule braying against the line where
- | the mud cakes fetlock-deep!
- | There's a lone soul humming a hint of a song in
- | the barn where the drivers sleep;
- | And I hear the pash of the orderly's horse as he
- | canters him down the lane--
- | Another cog in the gun-machine, a link in the selfsame chain.
-
- | I am only a cog in a giant machine, but a vital link in the chain;
- | And the Captain has sent from the wagon-line to
- | fill his wagons again;--
- | *From wagon-limber to gunpit dump; from loader's forearm at breech*
- | *To the working party that melts away when the shrapnel*
- | *bullets screech.--*
- | So the restless section pulls out once more in column
- | of route from the right,
- | At the tail of a blood-red afternoon; so the flux of another night
- | Bears back the wagons we fill at dawn to the sleeping column again...
- | Cog on cog in the gun-machine, link on link in the chain!
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. _`THE VOICE OF THE GUNS`:
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- | THE VOICE OF THE GUNS
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-..
-
- | We are the guns, and your masters! Saw ye our flashes?
- | Heard ye the scream of our shells in the night, and the
- | shuddering crashes?
- | Saw ye our work by the roadside, the gray wounded lying,
- | Moaning to God that he made them--the maimed and the dying?
- | Husbands or sons,
- | Fathers or lovers, we break them! We are the guns!
-
- | We are the guns and ye serve us! Dare ye grow weary,
- | Steadfast at nighttime, at noontime; or waking, when dawn
- | winds blow dreary
- | Over the fields and the flats and the reeds of the barrier water,
- | To wait on the hour of our choosing, the minute decided for slaughter?
- | Swift the clock runs;
- | Yes, to the ultimate second. Stand to your guns!
-
- | We are the guns and we need you! Here in the timbered
- | Pits that are screened by the crest and the copse
- | where at dusk ye unlimbered,
- | Pits that one found us--and, finding, gave life (did
- | he flinch from the giving?);
- | Laboured by moonlight when wraith of the dead
- | brooded yet o'er the living,
- | Ere with the sun's
- | Rising the sorrowful spirit abandoned its guns.
-
- | Who but the guns shall avenge him? Strip us for action!
- | Load us and lay to the centremost hair of the dial-sight's refraction.
- | Set your quick hands to our levers to compass the sped soul's assoiling;
- | Brace your taut limbs to the shock when the thrust
- | of the barrel recoiling
- | Deafens and stuns!
- | Vengeance is ours for our servants. Trust ye the guns!
-
- | Least of our bond-slaves or greatest, grudge ye the burden?
- | Hard is this service of ours which has only our service for guerdon:
- | Grow the limbs lax, and unsteady the hands, which
- | aforetime we trusted;
- | Flawed, the clear crystal of sight; and the clean
- | steel of hardihood rusted?
- | *Dominant ones,*
- | *Are we not tried serfs and proven--true to our guns?*
-
- | *Ye are the guns! Are we worthy? Shall not these speak for us,*
- | *Out of the woods where the torn trees are slashed with*
- | *the vain bolts that seek for us,*
- | *Thunder of batteries firing in unison, swish of shell flighting,*
- | *Hissing that rushes to silence and breaks to the thud of alighting?*
- | *Death that outruns*
- | *Horseman and foot? Are we justified? Answer, O guns!*
-
- | Yea! by your works are ye justified,--toil unrelieved;
- | Manifold labours, coördinate each to the sending achieved;
- | Discipline, not of the feet but the soul, unremitting, unfeigned;
- | Tortures unholy by flame and by maiming, known, faced, and disdained;
- | Courage that shuns
- | Only foolhardiness;--even by these are ye worthy your guns!
-
- | Wherefore--and unto ye only--power has been given;
- | Yea! beyond man, over men, over desolate cities and riven;
- | Yea! beyond space, over earth and the seas and the
- | sky's high dominions;
- | Yea! beyond time, over Hell and the fiends and
- | the Death-Angel's pinions!
- | Vigilant ones,
- | Loose them, and shatter, and spare not. We are the guns!
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. class:: center small
-
- THE END
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. class:: center small
-
- CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
- U . S . A
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-----
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. class:: center x-large
-
- BOOKS ON THE GREAT WAR
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- *Published by*
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- Houghton Mifflin Company
-
-Thrilling stories of real adventure; graphic
-pictures of the fighting by men who actually
-fought; notable volumes dealing with the larger
-aspects of the struggle; in short, books for every taste
-and on every phase of the war may be found in these
-pages.
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- *Personal Narratives*
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- With the French
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- A SOLDIER OF THE LEGION
- E. MORLAE
-
-An incomparable account of the great offensive of September,
-1915; graphic, thrilling, and filled with the Foreign Legion's
-own dare-devil spirit. With frontispiece.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- A HILLTOP ON THE MARNE
- MILDRED ALDRICH
-
-"Perhaps the straightest and most charming book written on
-a single aspect of the war."--*The New Republic*. Illustrated.
-$1.25 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 3
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- With the British
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND
- IAN HAY
-
-The story of a British volunteer. Called *the greatest book of
-the war* by the leading English papers. With frontispiece.
-$1.50 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- KITCHENER'S MOB
- JAMES NORMAN HALL
-
-The graphic and uncensored account of the adventures of
-an American volunteer in Kitchener's Army. Illustrated.
-$1.25 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- In Belgium
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- BELGIUM'S AGONY
- EMILE VERHAEREN
-
-The story of what Belgium has endured and how she has
-endured it, told by her greatest poet. $1.25 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE LOG OF A NON-COMBATANT
- HORACE GREEN
-
-"A lively, readable narrative of personal experiences, thrilling,
-painful, humorous."--*Churchman*. Illustrated. $1.25 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- In Germany
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- TO RUHLEBEN AND BACK
- GEOFFREY PYKE
-
-The story of a young Englishman's escape from a detention
-camp and flight across Germany. One of the most picturesque
-and thrilling narratives of the war. Illustrated. $1.50 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- In Italy
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE WORLD DECISION
- ROBERT HERRICK
-
-Contains a graphic, first-hand account of Italy's entrance into
-the war, as well as a remarkable analysis of the larger aspects
-of the struggle. $1.25 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- With the Austrians
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- FOUR WEEKS IN THE TRENCHES
- FRITZ KREISLER
-
-"Filled with memorable scenes and striking descriptions. It
-will stand as a picture of war."--*New York Globe*. Illustrated.
-$1.00 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
-With the Russians
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- DAY BY DAY WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY
- BERNARD PARES
-
-"A wonderful narrative. When the history of this great war
-comes to be written it will be an invaluable
-document."--*London Morning Post*. Illustrated. $2.50 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
-With the Japanese
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE FALL OF TSINGTAU
- JEFFERSON JONES
-
-A remarkable study of war and diplomacy in the Orient that
-"should be read by every American who is interested in the
-future of our status in the Far East."--*New York Tribune*.
-Illustrated. $1.75 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
-On the Ocean
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE LUSITANIA'S LAST VOYAGE
- C. E. LAURIAT, JR.
-
-"Not only a document of historic interest, but a thrilling
-narrative of the greatest disaster of its kind."--*The Dial*.
-Illustrated. $1.00 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 3
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- *Causes and Results of the War*
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- Diplomatic
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE DIPLOMACY OF THE WAR OF 1914: The Beginnings of the War
- ELLERY C. STOWELL
-
-"The most complete statement that has been given."--LORD
-BRYCE. "The whole tangled web of diplomacy is made crystal
-clear in this really statesmanlike book."--*New York Times*.
-$5.00 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- PAN-GERMANISM
- ROLAND G. USHER
-
-The war has borne out in a remarkable way the accuracy of
-this analysis of the game of world politics that preceded the
-resort to arms.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THIRTY YEARS
- SIR THOMAS BARCLAY
-
-The story of the forming of the Entente between France and
-England told by the man largely responsible for its existence.
-$3.50 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- Financial
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE RULING CASTE AND FRENZIED TRADE IN GERMANY
- MAURICE MILLIOUD
-
-Shows the part played by the over-extension of German trade
-in bringing on the war. $1.00 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE AUDACIOUS WAR
- C. W. BARRON
-
-An analysis of the commercial and financial aspects of the
-war by one of America's keenest business men. "Not only
-of prime importance but of breathless interest."--*Philadelphia
-Public Ledger*. $1.00 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 3
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- *America and the War*
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- The Diplomatic Aspects
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE CHALLENGE OF THE FUTURE
- ROLAND G. USHER
-
-"The most cogent analysis of national prospects and possibilities
-any student of world politics has yet written."--*Boston
-Herald*. $1.75 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- The Military Aspects
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- ARE WE READY?
- H. D. WHEELER
-
-A sane constructive study of our unpreparedness for war.
-"You have performed a real service to the American
-people."--HENRY T. STIMSON, Former Secretary of War. $1.50 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- The Moral Aspects
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE ROAD TOWARD PEACE
- CHARLES W. ELIOT
-
-"Few writers have discussed the way and means of establishing
-peace and friendly relations among nations with more
-sanity and far-reaching estimate of values."--*Detroit Free
-Press*. $1.00 net.
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- GERMANY VERSUS CIVILIZATION
- WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER
-
-A biting indictment of Prussianism and an analysis of the
-meaning of the war to America. $1.00 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- COUNTER-CURRENTS
- AGNES REPPLIER
-
-Dealing mainly with issues arising from the war, these essays
-will take their place among the most brilliant of
-contemporary comment. $1.25 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 3
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- *Miscellaneous*
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- Fiction
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- THE FIELD OF HONOUR
- H. FIELDING-HALL
-
-Short stories dealing with the spirit of England at war.
-"Admirably written without one superfluous word to mar the
-directness of their appeal."--*New York Times*. $1.50 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
-Poetry
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- A SONG OF THE GUNS
- GILBERT FRANKAU
-
-Vivid, powerful verse written to the roar of guns on the
-western front, by a son of Frank Danby, the novelist.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- Biography
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- KITCHENER, ORGANIZER OF VICTORY
- HAROLD BEGBIE
-
-The first full and satisfactory account of the life and deeds of
-England's great War Minister. Suppressed in England for its
-frankness. Illustrated. $1.25.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- History
-
-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line
-
- IS WAR DIMINISHING?
- FREDERICK ADAMS WOODS, M.D., AND ALEXANDER BALTZLEY
-
-The first complete and authoritative study of the question of
-whether warfare has increased or diminished in the last five
-centuries. $1.00 net.
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: center large white-space-pre-line
-
- HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
- BOSTON AND NEW YORK
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. class:: center medium
-
- The New Poetry Series
-
-.. class:: center small
-
- PUBLISHED BY
- HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
-
-.. vspace:: 2
-
-.. class:: left medium white-space-pre-line
-
- IRRADIATIONS. SAND AND SPRAY. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.
- SOME IMAGIST POETS.
- JAPANESE LYRICS. Translated by LAFCADIO HEARN.
- AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING.
- THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. EMILE VERHAEREN.
- INTERFLOW. GEOFFREY C. FABER.
- STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. PAUL SHIVELL.
- IDOLS. WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG.
- TURNS AND MOVIES, AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE. CONRAD AIKEN.
- ROADS. GRACE FALLOW NORTON.
- GOBLINS AND PAGODAS. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.
- SOME IMAGIST POETS, 1916.
- A SONG OF THE GUNS. GILBERT FRANKAU.
-
-.. vspace:: 6
-
-.. pgfooter::
diff --git a/40345-rst/images/img-cover.jpg b/40345-rst/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b5747ff..0000000 --- a/40345-rst/images/img-cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/40345.txt b/40345.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 133581c..0000000 --- a/40345.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1227 +0,0 @@ - A SONG OF THE GUNS - - - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: A Song of the Guns - -Author: Gilbert Frankau - -Release Date: July 26, 2012 [EBook #40345] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SONG OF THE GUNS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - - A SONG OF THE GUNS - - - BY - - GILBERT FRANKAU, R.S.A. - - - - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - 1916 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY GILBERT FRANKAU - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - _Published April 1916_ - - - - NOTE - - -_A Song of the Guns_ was written under what are probably the most -remarkable conditions in which a poem has ever been composed. The -author, who is now serving in Flanders, was present at the battle of -Loos, and during a lull in the fighting--when the gunners, who had been -sleepless for five nights, were resting like tired dogs under their -guns--he jotted down the main theme of the poem. After the battle the -artillery brigade to which he was attached was ordered to Ypres, and it -was during the long trench warfare in this district, within sight of the -ruined tower of Ypres Cathedral, that the poem was finally completed. -The last three stanzas were written at midnight in Brigade Headquarters -with the German shells screaming over into the ruined town. - - - - - CONTENTS - - -The Voice of the Slaves -Headquarters -Gun-Teams -Eyes in the Air -Signals -The Observers -Ammunition Column -The Voice of the Guns - - - - - A SONG OF THE GUNS - - - These are our masters, the slim - Grim muzzles that irk in the pit; - That chafe for the rushing of wheels, - For the teams plunging madly to bit - As the gunners wing down to unkey, - For the trails sweeping half-circle-right, - For the six breech-blocks clashing as one - To a target viewed clear on the sight-- - Gray masses the shells search and tear - Into fragments that bunch as they run-- - For the hour of the red battle-harvest, - The dream of the slaves of the gun! - - We have bartered our souls to the guns; - Every fibre of body and brain - Have we trained to them, chained to them. Serfs? - Aye! but proud of the weight of our chain, - Of our backs that are bowed to their workings, - To hide them and guard and disguise, - Of our ears that are deafened with service, - Of hands that are scarred, and of eyes - Grown hawklike with marking their prey, - Of wings that are slashed as with swords - When we hover, the turn of a blade - From the death that is sweet to our lords. - - - - - THE VOICE OF THE SLAVES - - - _By the ears and the eyes and the brain,_ - _By the limbs and the hands and the wings,_ - _We are slaves to our masters the guns;_ - _But their slaves are the masters of kings!_ - - - - - HEADQUARTERS - - - A league and a league from the trenches, - from the traversed maze of the lines,-- - Where daylong the sniper watches and daylong the - bullet whines, - And the cratered earth is in travail with mines and - with countermines,-- - - Here, where haply some woman dreamed, (are - those her roses that bloom - In the garden beyond the windows of my littered - working-room?) - We have decked the map for our masters as a bride - is decked for the groom. - - Here, on each numbered lettered square,--cross-road - and mound and wire, - Loophole, redoubt, and emplacement, are the targets - their mouths desire,-- - Gay with purples and browns and blues, have we - traced them their arcs of fire. - - And ever the type-keys clatter; and ever our keen - wires bring - Word from the watchers a-crouch below, word - from the watchers a-wing; - And ever we hear the distant growl of our hid guns - thundering; - - Hear it hardly, and turn again to our maps, where - the trench-lines crawl, - Red on the gray and each with a sign for the - ranging shrapnel's fall-- - Snakes that our masters shall scotch at dawn, as is - written here on the wall. - - For the weeks of our waiting draw to a close.... - There is scarcely a leaf astir - In the garden beyond my windows where the - twilight shadows blur - The blaze of some woman's roses.... - "Bombardment orders, sir." - - - - - GUN-TEAMS - - - Their rugs are sodden, their heads are down, their - tails are turned to the storm. - (Would you know them, you that groomed them - in the sleek fat days of peace,-- - When the tiles rang to their pawings in the lighted - stalls and warm,-- - Now the foul clay cakes on breeching-strap and - clogs the quick-release?) - - The blown rain stings, there is never a star, the - tracks are rivers of slime. - (You must harness up by guesswork with a - failing torch for light, - Instep-deep in unmade standings, for it's active-service time, - And our resting weeks are over, and we move - the guns to-night.) - - The iron tires slither, the traces sag; their blind - hooves stumble and slide; - They are war-worn, they are weary, soaked with - sweat and sopped with rain. - (You must hold them, you must help them, swing - your lead and centre wide - Where the greasy granite pave peters out to - squelching drain.) - - There is shrapnel bursting a mile in front on the - road that the guns must take: - (You are nervous, you are thoughtful, you are - shifting in your seat, - As you watch the ragged feathers flicker orange - flame and break)-- - But the teams are pulling steady down the - battered village street. - - You have shod them cold, and their coats are long, - and their bellies gray with the mud; - They have done with gloss and polish, but the - fighting heart's unbroke. - We, who saw them hobbling after us down white - roads flecked with blood, - Patient, wondering why we left them, till we - lost them in the smoke; - - Who have felt them shiver between our knees, - when the shells rain black from the skies, - When the bursting terrors find us and the lines - stampede as one; - Who have watched the pierced limbs quiver and - the pain in stricken eyes, - Know the worth of humble servants, foolish-faithful - to their gun! - - - - - EYES IN THE AIR - - - Our guns are a league behind us, our target a mile below, - And there's never a cloud to blind us from the haunts of - our lurking foe-- - Sunk pit whence his shrapnel tore us, support-trench - crest-concealed, - As clear as the charts before us, his ramparts lie revealed. - His panicked watchers spy us, a droning threat in the void; - Their whistling shells outfly us--puff upon puff, deployed - Across the green beneath us, across the flanking grey, - In fume and fire to sheathe us and balk us of our prey. - - Below, beyond, above her, - Their iron web is spun! - Flicked but unsnared we hover, - Edged planes against the sun: - Eyes in the air above his lair, - The hawks that guide the gun! - - No word from earth may reach us save, white against the ground, - The strips outspread to teach us whose ears are deaf to sound: - But down the winds that sear us, athwart our engine's shriek, - We send--and know they hear us, the ranging guns we speak. - Our visored eyeballs show us their answering pennant, broke - Eight thousand feet below us, a whirl of flame-stabbed smoke-- - The burst that hangs to guide us, while numbed gloved fingers - tap - From wireless key beside us the circles of the map. - - Line--target--short or over-- - Comes, plain as clock-hands run, - Word from the birds that hover, - Unblinded, tail to sun-- - Word out of air to range them fair, - From hawks that guide the gun! - - Your flying shells have failed you, your landward guns are dumb: - Since earth hath naught availed you, these skies be open! Come, - Where, wild to meet and mate you, flame in their beaks for - breath, - Black doves! the white hawks wait you on the wind-tossed - boughs of death. - These boughs be cold without you, our hearts are hot for this, - Our wings shall beat about you, our scorching breath shall kiss: - Till, fraught with that we gave you, fulfilled of our desire, - You bank,--too late to save you from biting beaks of fire,-- - - Turn sideways from your lover, - Shudder and swerve and run, - Tilt; stagger; and plunge over - Ablaze against the sun,-- - Doves dead in air, who clomb to dare - The hawks that guide the gun! - - - - - SIGNALS - - - The hot wax drips from the flares - On the scrawled pink forms that litter - The bench where he sits; the glitter - Of stars is framed by the sandbags atop of the dug-out stairs. - And the lagging watch-hands creep; - And his cloaked mates murmur in sleep,-- - Forms he can wake with a kick,-- - And he hears, as he plays with the pressel-switch, the strapped - receiver click - On his ear that listens, listens; - And the candle-flicker glistens - On the rounded brass of the switch-board where the red wires - cluster thick. - - Wires from the earth, from the air; - Wires that whisper and chatter - At night, when the trench-rats patter - And nibble among the rations and scuttle back to their lair; - Wires that are never at rest,-- - For the linesmen tap them and test, - And ever they tremble with tone:-- - And he knows from a hundred signals the buzzing call of his own, - The breaks and the vibrant stresses,-- - The Z and the G and the S's - That call his hand to the answering key and his mouth to the - microphone. - - For always the laid guns fret - On the words that his mouth shall utter, - When rifle and Maxim stutter - And the rockets volley to starward from the spurting parapet; - And always his ear must hark - To the voices out of the dark,-- - For the whisper over the wire, - From the bombed and the battered trenches where the wounded moan - in the mire,-- - For a sign to waken the thunder - Which shatters the night in sunder - With the flash of the leaping muzzles and the beat of - battery-fire. - - - - - THE OBSERVERS - - - Ere the last light that leaps the night has hung and shone and - died, - While yet the breast-high fog of dawn is swathed about the - plain, - By hedge and track our slaves go back, the waning stars for - guide, - Eyes of our mouths; the mists have cleared, the guns would - speak again! - - Faint on the ears that strain to hear, their orders trickle down - "Degrees--twelve--left of zero line--corrector one three - eight-- - Three thousand." ... Shift our trails and lift the muzzles that - shall drown - The rifle's idle chatter when our sendings detonate. - - Sending or still, these serve our will; the hidden eyes that - mark - From gutted farm, from laddered tree that scans the furrowed - slope, - From coigns of slag whose pit-ropes sag on burrowed ways and - dark, - In open trench where sandbags hold the steady periscope. - - Waking, they know the instant foe, the bullets phutting by, - The blurring lens, the sodden map, the wires that leak or - break! - Sleeping, they dream of shells that scream adown a sunless sky-- - And the splinters patter round them in their dug-outs as they - wake. - - Not theirs, the wet glad bayonet, the red and racing hour, - The rush that clears the bombing-post with knife and - hand-grenade; - Not theirs the zest when, steel to breast, the last survivors - cower,-- - Yet can ye hold the ground ye won, save these be there to aid? - - These, that observe the shell's far swerve, these of the quiet - voice, - That bids "go on," repeats the range, corrects for fuse or - line... - Though dour the task their masters ask, what room for thought or - choice? - This is ours by right of service, heedless gift of youthful - eyne! - - Careless they give while yet they live; the dead we tasked too - sore - Bear witness we were naught begrudged of riches or of youth; - Careless they gave; across their grave our calling salvoes roar, - And those we maimed come back to us in proof our dead speak - truth! - - - - - AMMUNITION COLUMN - - - _I am only a cog in a giant machine, a link of an endless - chain:--_ - _And the rounds are drawn, and the rounds are fired,_ - _and the empties return again;_ - _'Railroad, lorry, and limber; battery, column, and park;_ - _'To the shelf where the set fuse waits the breech, from_ - _the quay where the shells embark._ - We have watered and fed, and eaten our beef; the - long dull day drags by, - As I sit here watching our "Archibalds" _strafing_ an empty sky; - Puff and flash on the far-off blue round the speck - one guesses the plane-- - Smoke and spark of the gun-machine that is fed by the endless - chain. - - I am only a cog in a giant machine, a little link in the chain, - Waiting a word from the wagon-lines that the guns are hungry - again:-- - _Column-wagon to battery-wagon, and battery-wagon to gun;_ - _To the loader kneeling 'twixt trail and wheel from the_ - _shops where the steam-lathes run._ - There's a lone mule braying against the line where - the mud cakes fetlock-deep! - There's a lone soul humming a hint of a song in - the barn where the drivers sleep; - And I hear the pash of the orderly's horse as he - canters him down the lane-- - Another cog in the gun-machine, a link in the selfsame chain. - - I am only a cog in a giant machine, but a vital link in the - chain; - And the Captain has sent from the wagon-line to - fill his wagons again;-- - _From wagon-limber to gunpit dump; from loader's forearm at - breech_ - _To the working party that melts away when the shrapnel_ - _bullets screech.--_ - So the restless section pulls out once more in column - of route from the right, - At the tail of a blood-red afternoon; so the flux of another - night - Bears back the wagons we fill at dawn to the sleeping column - again... - Cog on cog in the gun-machine, link on link in the chain! - - - - - THE VOICE OF THE GUNS - - - We are the guns, and your masters! Saw ye our flashes? - Heard ye the scream of our shells in the night, and the - shuddering crashes? - Saw ye our work by the roadside, the gray wounded lying, - Moaning to God that he made them--the maimed and the dying? - Husbands or sons, - Fathers or lovers, we break them! We are the guns! - - We are the guns and ye serve us! Dare ye grow weary, - Steadfast at nighttime, at noontime; or waking, when dawn - winds blow dreary - Over the fields and the flats and the reeds of the barrier - water, - To wait on the hour of our choosing, the minute decided for - slaughter? - Swift the clock runs; - Yes, to the ultimate second. Stand to your guns! - - We are the guns and we need you! Here in the timbered - Pits that are screened by the crest and the copse - where at dusk ye unlimbered, - Pits that one found us--and, finding, gave life (did - he flinch from the giving?); - Laboured by moonlight when wraith of the dead - brooded yet o'er the living, - Ere with the sun's - Rising the sorrowful spirit abandoned its guns. - - Who but the guns shall avenge him? Strip us for action! - Load us and lay to the centremost hair of the dial-sight's - refraction. - Set your quick hands to our levers to compass the sped soul's - assoiling; - Brace your taut limbs to the shock when the thrust - of the barrel recoiling - Deafens and stuns! - Vengeance is ours for our servants. Trust ye the guns! - - Least of our bond-slaves or greatest, grudge ye the burden? - Hard is this service of ours which has only our service for - guerdon: - Grow the limbs lax, and unsteady the hands, which - aforetime we trusted; - Flawed, the clear crystal of sight; and the clean - steel of hardihood rusted? - _Dominant ones,_ - _Are we not tried serfs and proven--true to our guns?_ - - _Ye are the guns! Are we worthy? Shall not these speak for - us,_ - _Out of the woods where the torn trees are slashed with_ - _the vain bolts that seek for us,_ - _Thunder of batteries firing in unison, swish of shell - flighting,_ - _Hissing that rushes to silence and breaks to the thud of - alighting?_ - _Death that outruns_ - _Horseman and foot? Are we justified? Answer, O guns!_ - - Yea! by your works are ye justified,--toil unrelieved; - Manifold labours, cooerdinate each to the sending achieved; - Discipline, not of the feet but the soul, unremitting, - unfeigned; - Tortures unholy by flame and by maiming, known, faced, and - disdained; - Courage that shuns - Only foolhardiness;--even by these are ye worthy your guns! - - Wherefore--and unto ye only--power has been given; - Yea! beyond man, over men, over desolate cities and riven; - Yea! beyond space, over earth and the seas and the - sky's high dominions; - Yea! beyond time, over Hell and the fiends and - the Death-Angel's pinions! - Vigilant ones, - Loose them, and shatter, and spare not. We are the guns! - - - - - THE END - - - - - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . 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Translated by LAFCADIO HEARN. -AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING. -THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. EMILE VERHAEREN. -INTERFLOW. GEOFFREY C. FABER. -STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. PAUL SHIVELL. -IDOLS. WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG. -TURNS AND MOVIES, AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE. CONRAD AIKEN. -ROADS. GRACE FALLOW NORTON. -GOBLINS AND PAGODAS. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER. -SOME IMAGIST POETS, 1916. -A SONG OF THE GUNS. GILBERT FRANKAU. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SONG OF THE GUNS *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40345 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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