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diff --git a/old/66108-0.txt b/old/66108-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e9f6ac2..0000000 --- a/old/66108-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1994 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Gloucestershire Lad at Home and Abroad, by -F. W. (Frederick William) Harvey - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Gloucestershire Lad at Home and Abroad - -Author: F. W. (Frederick William) Harvey - -Release Date: August 22, 2021 [eBook #66108] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by University - of California libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GLOUCESTERSHIRE LAD AT HOME AND -ABROAD *** - - - - -A Gloucestershire Lad - -[Illustration] - - - - - A - Gloucestershire Lad - at Home and Abroad - - by - F. W. Harvey - - [Illustration] - - _Fourth Impression_ - - London - Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd. - 1917 - - - - - _First Impression, September 1916._ - _Second Impression, October 1916._ - _Third Impression, January 1917._ - _Fourth Impression, March 1917._ - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - - TO - ALL COMRADES OF MINE - WHO LIE DEAD IN FOREIGN FIELDS - FOR LOVE OF ENGLAND, - OR WHO LIVE TO PROSECUTE THE WAR - FOR ANOTHER ENGLAND - - - - -PREFACE - - -Most of these poems were written at the Front, and appeared in the -_Fifth Gloucester Gazette_--the first paper ever published from the -trenches. - -The author was then a Lance-Corporal in the 5th Battalion of the -Gloucestershire Regiment, and as such gained the Distinguished Conduct -Medal in August, 1915. - -The award appears as follows in the _London Gazette_-- - - F. W. HARVEY.--“For conspicuous gallantry on the night of the 3rd-4th - August, 1915, near Hebuterne, when, with a patrol, he and another - Non-Commissioned Officer went out to reconnoitre in the direction - of a suspected listening post. In advancing they encountered the - hostile post evidently covering a working party in the rear. Corporal - Knight at once shot one of the enemy, and, with Lance-Corporal - Harvey, rushed the post, shooting two others, and assistance arriving - the enemy fled. Lance-Corporal Harvey pursued, felling one of the - retreating Germans with a bludgeon. He seized him, but finding his - revolver empty and the enemy having opened fire, he was called back - by Corporal Knight, and the prisoner escaped. Three Germans were - killed and their rifles and a Mauser pistol were brought in. The - patrol had no loss.” - -The poems are written by a soldier and reflect a soldier’s outlook. -Mud, blood and khaki are rather conspicuously absent. They are, in -fact, the last things a soldier wishes to think or talk about. - -What he does think of is his home. - -Bishop Frodsham, preaching in Gloucester Cathedral, after visiting -the Troops in France, quoted the following poem in a passage which -admirably expresses the feelings of most of our fighting men. - -“To suppose that these men enjoy the fighting would be sheer nonsense. -The soldier does not want to go on killing and maiming Germans or -Turks. He wants to get the dreadful war finished, so that he can get -back to England again. But he wants the matter fought to a finish -because he has seen in the villages and towns of France what German -domination means. It has made him think furiously, as the French say. -Many regiments and ships’ companies while away the impracticable hours -by publishing little newspapers. - -“The _Fifth Gloucester Gazette_ is one of these journals. We are proud -of the courage and the gaiety these little papers show. We laugh at -their quips and jokes: then suddenly we find that the corners of our -mouths are quivering and the tears are gathering in our eyes. We see -that the boys are thinking about England below their gaiety. One young -poet lifts the veil in this exquisite little rondeau-- - - “‘If we return, will England be - Just England still to you and me-- - The place where we must earn our bread? - We who have walked among the dead, - And watched the smile of agony, - And seen the price of liberty, - Which we have taken carelessly - From other hands. Nay, we shall dread: - If we return, - Dread lest we hold blood-guiltily - The thing that men have died to free. - Our English fields shall blossom red - In all the blood that has been shed, - By men whose guardians are we, - If we return.’” - -That is perhaps the keynote of a book which the author has dedicated to -all dead and living comrades who have loved England. - - J. H. COLLETT, C.M.G., COLONEL - - Commanding the Fifth Battalion of the - Gloucestershire Regiment in France. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - PREFACE BY COLONEL J. H. COLLETT, C.M.G. vii - - _In Flanders_ xv - - A SONG OF GLOUCESTERSHIRE 1 - - BALLADE OF THE RICH HEART 3 - - SONG OF MINSTERWORTH PERRY 5 - - A GLOUCESTERSHIRE WISH AT EASTERTIDE 6 - - SONG OF THE ROAD 7 - - PIPER’S WOOD 8 - - BALLADE OF RIVER SAILING 9 - - SONG OF MINSTERWORTH 11 - - CRICKET: THE CATCH 13 - - WONDERS 14 - - TRIOLET 15 - - TRIOLET 16 - - WHAT GOD SAID 17 - - TO HIS MAID 18 - - BALLADE OF DAMNABLE THINGS 19 - - SONG OF HEALTH 21 - - GRATITUDE 22 - - THE SOLDIER SPEAKS 23 - - A PRESENT FROM FLANDERS 24 - - IF WE RETURN 25 - - A PEOPLE RENEWED 26 - - THE AWAKENING 27 - - THE RETURN 28 - - LAND OF HEART’S DELIGHT 29 - - GONNEHEM 30 - - THE REST FARM 31 - - BALLADE OF BEELZEBUB, GOD OF FLIES 32 - - TO THE KAISER 34 - - ROBERT HERRICK SOLILOQUIZES ON THE C.O. 36 - - THE THREE PADRES 37 - - WALT WHITMAN DESCRIBES MAJOR W. 38 - - SERGEANT FINCH 39 - - C COMPANY COOK 40 - - EPITAPH 41 - - SONNET 42 - - THE FIRST SPRING DAY 43 - - DEFIANCE 45 - - THE ORCHARDS, THE SEA, AND THE GUNS 46 - - DYING IN SPRING 47 - - VICTORY 48 - - DEATH THE REVEALER 49 - - F. W. H. 50 - - POETRY 51 - - PROSE POEMS-- - - 1. HEAVEN 52 - - 2. THE MOTH 53 - - 3. THE ARTIST 54 - - 4. THE WINDOW GLASS 55 - - 5. IN THE FIELD OF TIME 56 - - 6. BLUE GRASS 57 - - 7. THE POET 58 - - 8. SORROW 59 - - 9. THE MIRACLE 60 - - 10. FAITH 61 - - 11. TIME--THE HORSE 62 - - 12. THE REBUILDING OF REALITY 63 - - 13. THE TOKEN 64 - - - - -_IN FLANDERS_ - - - _I’m homesick for my hills again-- - My hills again! - To see above the Severn plain - Unscabbarded against the sky - The blue high blade of Cotswold lie; - The giant clouds go royally - By jagged Malvern with a train - Of shadows. Where the land is low - Like a huge imprisoning O - I hear a heart that’s sound and high, - I hear the heart within me cry: - “I’m homesick for my hills again-- - My hills again! - Cotswold or Malvern, sun or rain! - My hills again!”_ - - - - -A SONG OF GLOUCESTERSHIRE - -(_Dedicated to the Gloucestershire Society_) - - - _North, South, East, and West: - Think of whichever you love the best. - Forest and vale and high blue hill: - You may have whichever you will, - And quaff one cup to the love o’ your soul - Before we drink to the lovely whole._ - - Here are high hills with towns all stone, - (Did you come from the Cotswolds then?) - And an architecture all their own, - And a breed of sturdy men. - - But here’s a forest old and stern, - (Say, do you know the Wye?) - Where sunlight dapples green miles of fern, - A river wandering by. - - Here’s peaceful meadow-land and kine, - (Do you see a fair grey tower?) - Where sweet together close entwine - Grass, clover, and daisy flower. - - Here stretches the land toward the sea - (Behold the castle bold!) - Where men live out life merrily, - And die merry and old. - - _North, South, East, and West: - Think of whichever you love the best. - Forest and vale and high blue hill: - You shall have whichever you will, - To quaff one cup to the love o’ your soul - Before we drink to the lovely whole._ - - - - -BALLADE OF THE RICH HEART - - - What thief is he can rob this treasury, - Which hath not gold but dreams within its gates? - What power can enter in to take from me - My treasure, while upon the threshold waits - “Courage,” my watch-dog, keeping back the fates - Which follow close until I do depart - In safety from their little loves and hates? - Singing of all I carry in my heart. - - Guarded of dreams against all evil chance, - With young Adventure arm in arm I go - To laugh at Luck and silly Circumstance. - And, counting naught that comes to me my foe, - I change, if ’tis my whim, the winter snow - To blowing blossom: and by that same art - I fashion as I will Life’s weal and woe: - Singing of all I carry in my heart. - - Let me go lame and lousy like a tramp - But feel the wind and know the moonlit sky! - What matter if the falling dew be damp-- - Still is it dew! And well contented I - Among my dreams (in seeming poverty) - Far from the cities and the noisy mart,-- - With Life and Death--my dearest friends--to lie, - Singing of all I carry in my heart. - - -_Envoi._ - - Prince of this world, high monarch of all those - Who deem Reality life’s better part, - Herewith I tweak thy crooked royal nose-- - Singing of all I carry in my heart. - - - - -SONG OF MINSTERWORTH PERRY - - - When Noe went sailing with his crew - And waters covered over the earth, - Trees that in Eden-orchard grew - Got washed away to Minsterworth. - - Now every year they bloom again, - (All of the trees spread healthy root) - And after Summer’s shine and rain - We gather up the blessed fruit; - - Whereof we get a heavenly drink - (Two rather!) for to make us merry; - Oh! Cider’s one, and I do think - The name o’ t’other one is Perry! - - - - -A GLOUCESTERSHIRE WISH AT EASTERTIDE - - - Here’s luck, my lads, while Birdlip Hill is steep:-- - --As long as Cotswold’s high or Severn’s deep. - Our thoughts of you shall blossom and abide - While blow the orchards about Severn side:-- - --While a round bubble like the children blow, - May Hill floats purple in the sunset glow. - - Our prayers go up to bless you where you lie, - While Gloucester tower stands up against the sky - To write old thoughts of loveliness, and trace - Dead men’s long living will to give God praise:-- - --Who of His mercy doth His Own Son give - This blessed morn, that you, and all, may live! - - - - -SONG OF THE ROAD - - - Cheerily upon the road - Tramp we all together, - Bearing every one his load - Through the changeful weather. - - To one Hope we all belong, - To one Fate a debtor, - Songs must cheer our steps along, - Mirth the road make better. - - Wishes cannot make a horse, - Only beggars would ride; - We must meet the fairy force - In each sombre wood-side. - - We must bravely tread the way, - Gaily sing together, - Till we reach the endless day, - Heaven’s golden weather. - - - - -PIPER’S WOOD - - - In Minsterworth when March is in, - And Spring begins to gild the days, - Oh! then starts up a joyous din, - For Piper’s Wood is full of praise, - Because the birds deem winter gone - And welcome the returning sun. - - Blackbird and thrush and robin dear - Within that wood try over all - The songs they mean to shout so clear - Before green leaves grow red and fall; - And harkening in its shadows you - Must needs sing out of Summer too. - - - - -BALLADE OF RIVER SAILING - - - _The Dorothy_ was very small: a boat - Scarce any bigger than the sort one rows - With oars! We got her for a five-pound note - At second-hand. Yet when the river flows - Strong to the sea, and the wind lightly blows, - Then see her dancing on the tide, and you’ll - Swear she’s the prettiest little craft that goes - Up-stream from Framilode to Bollopool. - - Bare-footed, push her from the bank afloat, - (The soft warm mud comes squelching through your toes!) - Scramble aboard: then find an antidote - For every care a jaded spirit knows: - While round the boat the broken water crows - With laughter, casting pretty ridicule - On human life and all its little woes, - Up-stream from Framilode to Bollopool. - - How shall I tell you what the sunset wrote - Upon the outspread waters--gold and rose: - Or how the white sail of our little boat - Looks on a summer sky? The hills enclose - With blue solemnity: each white scar shows - Clear on the quarried Cotteswolds high and cool. - And high and cool a fevered spirit grows - Up-stream from Framilode to Bollopool. - - -_Envoi._ - - Prince, you have horses: motors, I suppose, - As well! At finding pleasure you’re no fool. - But have you got a little boat that blows - Up-stream from Framilode to Bollopool? - - - - -SONG OF MINSTERWORTH - - _Air_: “_The Vicar of Bray_” - - - In olden, olden centuries - On Gloucester’s holy ground, sir, - The monks did pray and chant all day, - And grow exceeding round, sir; - And here’s the reason that they throve - To praise their pleasant fortune, - “We keep our beasts”--thus quoth the priests, - “In Minsterworth--that’s Mortune!”[1] - - _So this is the chorus we will sing, - And this is the spot we’ll drink to, - While blossom blows and Severn flows, - And Earth has mugs to clink to._ - - Oh! there in sleepy Summer sounds - The drowsy drone of bees, sir, - And there in Winter paints the sun - His patterns ’neath the trees, sir; - And there with merry song doth run - A river full of fish, sir, - That Thursday sees upon the flood - And Friday on the dish, sir. - - _So this is the chorus we will sing - And this is the spot we’ll drink to, - While blossom blows and Severn flows, - And Earth has mugs to clink to._ - - The jovial priests to dust are gone, - We cannot hear their singing; - But still their merry chorus-song - From newer lips runs ringing. - And we who drink the sunny air - And see the blossoms drifting, - Will sit and sing the self-same thing - Until the roof we’re lifting. - - _So this is the chorus we will sing, - And this is the spot we’ll drink to, - While blossom blows and Severn flows, - And Earth has mugs to clink to._ - -[1] The ancient name of the parish was Mortune--that is, the village -in the mere; and the name was changed to Minsterworth early in the -fourteenth century because it belonged to the Minster or Abbey of -Gloucester, and was the Minster’s “Worth” or farm where the cattle were -kept.--F. W. H. - - - - -CRICKET: THE CATCH - - - Whizzing, fierce, it came - Down the summer air, - Burning like a flame - On my fingers bare, - And it brought to me - As swift--a memory. - - Happy days long dead - Clear I saw once more. - Childhood that is fled:-- - Rossall on the shore, - Where the sea sobs wild - Like a homesick child. - - Oh, the blue bird’s fled! - Never man can follow. - Yet at times instead - Comes this scarlet swallow, - Bearing on its wings - (Where it skims and dips, - Gleaming through the slips) - Sweet Time-strangled things. - - - - -WONDERS - - - What magic is in common grass - To bring this miracle to pass? - That within it one should find - Salves to give him peace of mind? - --It’s very queer that garden weed - Should minister to my soul’s need. - - What fairy in the falling rain - Takes the robin’s small refrain, - And twists it to a tiny charm - To keep a tempted heart from harm? - --It puzzles me a wild bird’s song - Should save my soul from doing wrong. - - - - -TRIOLET - - - If Beauty were a mortal thing - That died like laughter, grief, and lust, - The poet would not need to sing. - If Beauty were a mortal thing - It would not wound us with its sting. - We should lie happy in the dust - If Beauty were a mortal thing - That died like laughter, grief, and lust. - - - - -TRIOLET - - - Winter has hardened all the ground, - But flowers are on the window-pane; - No others are there to be found:-- - Winter has hardened all the ground. - But here, while Earth is bare and bound, - Bloom ghosts of those his frost has slain. - Winter has hardened all the ground, - But flowers are on the window-pane. - - - - -WHAT GOD SAID - - - “This be a lesson,” said Life, with a frown-- - And knocked me down. - “And serve him right!” cried the goodly men, - While I--I picked myself up, and then - Went on just as I used to do. - - But the good God smiled as He shook His head; - “It’s a troublesome child,” said He, “but yet - Not quite so altogether dead - As those solemn old fools that laughed. Don’t fret!” - At least, I think that’s what He said. - - - - -TO HIS MAID - - - Since above Time, upon Eternity - The lovely essence of true loving’s set, - Time shall not triumph over you and me, - Nor--though we pay his debt-- - Shall Death hold mastery. - - Your eyes are bright for ever. Your dark hair - Holds an eternal shade. Like a bright sword - Shall flame the vision of your strange sweet ways, - Cleaving the years: and even your smallest word, - Lying forgotten with the things that were, - Shall glow and kindle, burning up the days. - - - - -BALLADE OF DAMNABLE THINGS - - - I do not like a horse to throw me off. - I do not like the motor-bike to skid. - I do not like a nasty hacking cough, - Nor influenza. And I never did - Enjoy the thought of frizzling on a grid, - The while wee flaming devils dance and sing. - But short of simple Hell without the lid, - I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. - - Fleas, faintness, famine, stomach-ache, the feel - Of flies upon your face, rats in your bed; - Lice, dusty roads, a blister on your heel, - The taste of salts, the scent of things long dead, - Home-sickness, chilblains, grief uncomforted, - A hollow tooth with cold, a hornet sting:-- - These are unpleasant, yet when all is said - I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. - - See you the whole bright world before your eye - Dwindle as ugly as a wrinkled pea. - See Beauty, a pricked bubble: Truth, a lie: - Achievement, foam on muddy water. See - Yourself a yellow devil suddenly, - And all the zest of youth gone journeying-- - See you all this, and then you will agree - (I think) that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. - - -_Envoi._ - - Prince of the damned--I ransack my supplies - To find a fitting wish at you to fling. - Now may you look on Hell through yellow eyes. - I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. - - - - -SONG OF HEALTH - - - For friends to stand beside, for foes to fight, - For devil’s work to break, for Wrong and Right, - And will (however hard) to choose between them: - For merry tales, no matter where you glean them: - Songs, stars, delight of birds, and summer roses, - Sunshine, wherein my friend the dog now dozes: - Danger--the zest of life, and Love, the lord - Of Life and Death: for every open word - Spoken in blame or praise by friend o’ mine - To spur me on: for old, good memories, - Keeping in my soul’s cellar like good wine: - For Truth that’s strong, and Beauty so divine: - For animals, and children, and for trees, - Both wintry-black and blossoming in white: - For homely gardens and for humming bees: - For drink, and dreams, and daisies on the sod, - Plain food, and fire (when it will light)-- - Thank God! - - - - -GRATITUDE - - - Grateful--ah, yes! - I, who have seen - The larches brighten green, - The orchard’s Easter dress, - And those red thousand poppies, - In wheat below the coppice: - - I, who (while others lie in graves - Of earth, or rocked with waves), - Have leave to walk - And sing and talk, - With golden lads and girls, - My friends, - To all the farthest ends, - Whither Life whirls.... - - How can I not feel gratitude for this - And other bliss, - Which God--dear God--hath sent, - For my great wonderment? - - - - -THE SOLDIER SPEAKS - - - Within my heart I safely keep, - England, what things are yours: - Your clouds, and cloud-like flocks of sheep - That drift o’er windy moors. - Possessing naught, I proudly hold - Great hills and little gay - Hill-towns set black on sunrise-gold - At breaking of the day. - - Though unto me you be austere - And loveless, darling land; - Though you be cold and hard, my dear, - And will not understand. - Yet have I fought and bled for you, - And, by that self-same sign, - Still must I love you, yearn to you, - England--how truly mine! - - - - -A PRESENT FROM FLANDERS - - - Where dewfall and the moon - Make precious things, - On every small festoon - A spider slings: - - Treading--like dead leaves under - All drifted days, - Happy the lovers wander - In Winter ways; - - No thought of pain perplexes - The peace they hold; - No worldly sorrow vexes - The lovers. Gold-- - - All golden gleams the way; - How strange such riches - Drawn from rough men should be - Seven or eight worlds away, - Fighting, and carelessly, - Dying in ditches! - - - - -IF WE RETURN - -(_Rondeau_) - - - If we return, will England be - Just England still to you and me? - The place where we must earn our bread? - We, who have walked among the dead. - And watched the smile of agony, - - And seen the price of Liberty, - Which we have taken carelessly - From other hands. Nay, we shall dread, - If we return, - - Dread lest we hold blood-guiltily - The things that men have died to free. - Oh, English fields shall blossom red - For all the blood that has been shed - By men whose guardians are we, - If we return. - - - - -A PEOPLE RENEWED - - - Now these like men shall live, - And like to princes fall. - They take what Fate will give - At this great festival. - - And since at length they find - That life is sweet indeed, - They cast it on the wind - To serve their country’s need. - - See young “Adventure” there - (“Make-money-quick” that was) - Hurls down his gods that were - For Honour and the Cross! - - Old “Grab-at-Gold” lies low - In Flanders. And again - (Because men will it so) - England is ruled by Men. - - - - -THE AWAKENING - - - At night, in dream, - I saw those fields round home - Agleam. - Drenched all with dew - Beneath day’s newest dome - Of gold and blue. - - All night-- - All night they shone for me, and then - Came light. - And suddenly I woke, and lovely joy! - I was at home, with the fields gold as when - I was a boy. - - * * * * * - - Thus shall all men rise up at last to see, - Their dearest dreams golden reality. - - - - -THE RETURN - - - The unimaginable hour - That folds away our joys and pain - Holds not the spirit in its power. - Therefore I shall come home again - (Wherever my poor body lies), - To whisper in the summer trees - Upon a lazy fall and rise - Of wind: and in day’s red decline - Walk with the sun those roads of mine, - Then rosy with my memories. - - Though you may see me not, yet hear - My laughter in the laughing streams, - My footsteps in the running rain.... - For sake of all I counted dear - And visit still within my dreams - I shall at last come home again. - - - - -LAND OF HEART’S DELIGHT - - - Glory’s a temple open wide, - Content, a little shrine. - But Heart’s Delight is a land so bright - We reckon it half divine. - It lies wherever man has lived, - But wheresoe’er you find it - Its skies are blue with dreams come true, - And Heaven is just behind it. - - Glory’s the universal gleam - Of all God gives to men. - Content, the little silver dream - He sends to one in ten. - But Heart’s Delight, all golden bright, - Is given to him alone - Who has hidden his heart in the deepest part - Of a place called Home. - - - - -GONNEHEM - - - Of Gonnehem it shall be said - That we arrived there late and worn - With marching, and were given a bed - Of lovely straw. And then at morn - On rising from deep sleep saw dangle-- - Shining in the sun to spangle, - The all-blue heaven--branch loads of red - Bright cherries which we bought to eat, - Dew-wet, dawn-cool, and sunny-sweet. - There was a tiny court-yard too, - Wherein one shady walnut grew. - Unruffled peace the farm encloses-- - I wonder if beneath that tree, - The meditating hens still be. - Are the white walls now gay with roses? - Does the small fountain yet run free? - I wonder if that dog still dozes.... - Some day we must go back to see. - - - - -THE REST FARM - - - Into this quiet place - Of peace we come. - The War God hides his face, - His mouth is dumb. - - All reckless, wild decrees - His lips repeat, - Are hushed by a little breeze - In waving wheat. - - And, like the penance-peace - In a heart forlorn, - Thrills the word of the trees-- - The sigh of the corn. - - - - -BALLADE OF BEELZEBUB, GOD OF FLIES - - - Some men there are will not abide a rat - Within their bivvy. If one chance to peep - At them through little beady eyes, then pat, - They throw a boot and rouse a mate from sleep - To hunt the thing, and on its head they heap - Curses quite inappropriate to its size. - I care for none of these, but broad and deep - I curse Beelzebub--the God of Flies. - - Others may hunt the mouse with bayonet bright, - And beard the glittering beetle in his lair, - And fill the arches of the ancient night - With clamour, if a stolid toad should stare - Sleepily forth from the snug corner where - They fain would rest. But I will sympathize - With beetle, rat, and toad. I have no care. - I curse Beelzebub--the God of Flies. - - The tiny gnats they swarm in many a cloud, - To tangle their small limbs within my hair - And sting. The blood-flies dart: and buzzing loud - Blue-bottles draw mad patterns on the air. - The house-flies creep, and, what is hard to bear, - Feed on the poison papers advertise, - And rub their hands with relish of such fare! - I curse Beelzebub--the God of Flies. - - -_Envoi._ - - Prince--Clown of Europe--others shall make haste - To call damnation on your limbs and eyes. - Spending good oaths upon you were a waste: - I curse Beelzebub--the God of Flies. - - - - -TO THE KAISER - -(_Confidentially_) - - - I met a man--a refugee, - And he was blind in both his eyes, sir. - And in his pate - A silver plate - (’Twas rather comical to see!) - Shone where the bone skull used to be - Before your shrapnel struck him, Kaiser. - Shattering in the self-same blast - (Blind as a tyrant in his dotage), - The foolish wife - Who risked her life, - As peasants will do till the last, - Clinging to one small Belgian cottage. - - That was their home. The whining child - Beside him in the railway carriage - Was born there, and - The little land - Around it (now untilled and wild), - Was brought him by his wife on marriage. - The child was whining for its mother, - And interrupting half he said, sir. - I’ll never see the pair again.... - Nor they the mother that lies dead, sir. - - That’s all--a foolish tale, not worth - The ear of noble lord or Kaiser. - A man un-named, - By shrapnel maimed, - Wife slain, home levelled to the earth-- - That’s all. You see no point? Nor I, sir. - Yet on the day you come to die, sir, - When all your war dreams cease to be, - Perchance will rise - Before your eyes - (Piercing your hollow heart, Sir Kaiser!) - The picture that I chanced to see, - Riding (we’ll say) from A to B. - - - - -ROBERT HERRICK SOLILOQUIZES ON THE C.O. - - - A sweet disorder in the dress - Kindles in him small kindliness. - My slack puttees him oft have thrown - Into a fine distraction. - An erring lace he cannot bear, - Nor the neglected, flowing hair. - Did he command that splendid force - The W.V.T.C., of course, - He’d see they dressed with careful art, - Very precise in every part. - And would, I’m certain, never dote - On the tempestuous petticoat. - - - - -THE THREE PADRES - -(_Acrostics_) - - - _R. C. Chaplain._ - - Pale-faced, brown-eyed, slight, - Upon a lanky bay - Rides this modern knight - Down rain-beat road to-day; - In a little broken shrine - Emptying out the blessed wine. - - - _Wesleyan Chaplain._ - - Much loved by all who know you, - Especially you seem - Envied for smiles that show you - Kindness in a gleam. - - - _Church of England Chaplain._ - - Helm of our literary ship, - Editor of this Gazette,[2] - Luck be yours, although you whip - My muse into an awful sweat. - -[2] _Fifth Gloucester Gazette._ See Introduction. - - - - -WALT WHITMAN DESCRIBES MAJOR W. - - - Nonchalantly he stands - On every step of life - Tapping his legging. - - It is just the same - Whether we’re expecting - A Boche attack - Or Church Parade. - - Nothing flusters him. Men - Confidently go - To do his bidding: - While he stands there - - Revolving stunts; - And nonchalantly - Tapping his legging. - - - - -SERGEANT FINCH - - - He’s a popular sergeant, you bet, - For he’ll rough it along with his men, - And start up a song in the wet - To set ’em all smiling again. - - His stories are naughty, I’m told, - His voice has a sonorous sound; - But the envy of all who behold - Is the way that his puttees are wound. - - Blue-eyed, debonair, with a hat - Cocked sideways the eighth of an inch, - He’s sparrow-like: but for all that - The name in his pay-book is Finch. - - - - -C COMPANY COOK - - - “Do you want j-jam on it?” he’d say, - Twirling a red moustache. - We chaffed him over rations every day, - “Say, is this tea or hash?” - “Jim, tell us, do, - Why you put sugar in the blooming stew.” - “--And there’s a heap o’ coal in this--not half!...” - To all our chaff - “Do you want j-jam on it?” he’d say. - - - - -EPITAPH - -(_T. D._, 13/3/16) - - - A shallow trench for one so tall! - “Heads down”--no need for that old call - Beneath the upturned sod. - Safe lies his body, never fret, - Behind that crumpled parapet, - And over all this wind and wet - His soul sits safe with God. - - - - -SONNET - -(_To H. M._) - - - Him, the gods, loving, took while life was young.... - Say rather (clinging to a wiser creed) - God took, and suddenly on wings of speed - Bore to the utter quietness far flung - Of fields Elysian where the horrid tongue - Of battle is not. For He knew his need - Better than those who knew him well indeed, - Loving him best. Above his grave is rung - The death-bell of all things which hurt the sense - And vex the mind and plague the soul of man, - Tingeing the rainbow colours of his best - Dreams drably: and hath cried a voice, “Go hence! - Old Angel Time, to weary whom you can, - The while my well-beloved child hath rest.” - - - - -THE FIRST SPRING DAY - -(_To A. E. S._) - - - We laid you fast in frozen clay - When Winter had enchained the land. - (Lad, was it but three weeks to-day?) - And now comes Springtime’s messenger with golden tidings in his hand. - - A mist blows off the thawing earth, - And drips from every budding tree, - The springs are loosed, and mad with mirth - Run lisping in the fallen leaves, or laughing in the sunlight free. - - Oh you who loved the song so well, - Do you not hear the throstle’s note? - Nor heed the lovesome light that fell - As warm five thousand years ago, when Solomon, the wise king, wrote? - - “Sweet,” wrote he. Yes, the light is sweet! - And maddening sweet to walk in Spring: - Yet is the pleasure incomplete-- - How should the living understand the melodies that dead throats sing? - - Thinker and poet clutch in vain - The secret of a laughing rill, - And Shakespeare’s self could never gain - The message blown so mockingly by trumpet of a daffodil. - - Dear lad, for you I will not call, - Nor let a foolish dread be born. - A thousand years is still too small - To learn the secrets you must learn, ere you arise on Doomsday morn. - - For you have set your ear to earth - To list the growing of the flowers: - And catch the strains of Death and Birth: - And take the honey that is stored by all the flitting bee-like hours. - - And you must put to memory - The silver music of the stars - That raineth down so silently, - And all the mighty harmony scrolled on the sky in glittering bars. - - The music that no man can make, - The colours that he cannot see, - These out of darkness you shall take - And nourish up your growing soul with manna of their mystery. - - And then when you awake again - (And I have slept a little too), - How we shall rise to pace anew - An earth--where every dream is true, and nothing is unknown but pain. - - - - -DEFIANCE - - - I saw the orchards whitening - To Easter in late Lent. - Now struck of hell’s own lightning - With branches broken and bent - Behold the tall trees rent:-- - Beaten with iron rain! - And ever in my brain - To every shell that’s sent - Sounds back this small refrain:-- - “You foolish shells, come kill me, - Blacken my limbs with flame: - I saw the English orchards - (And so may die content) - All white before I came!” - - - - -THE ORCHARDS, THE SEA, AND THE GUNS - - - Of sounds which haunt me, these - Until I die - Shall live. First the trees, - Swaying and singing in the moonless night. - (The wind being wild) - And I - A wakeful child, - That lay and shivered with a strange delight. - - Second--less sweet but thrilling as the first-- - The midnight roar - Of waves upon the shore - Of Rossall dear: - The rhythmic surge and burst - (The gusty rain - Flung on the pane!) - I loved to hear. - - And now another sound - Wilder than wind or sea, - When on the silent night - I hear resound - In mad delight - The guns.... - They bark the whole night through; - And though I fear, - Knowing what work they do, - I somehow thrill to hear. - - - - -DYING IN SPRING - - - Lo, now do I behold - Sunshine and greenery - And Death together rolled-- - Yet not in mockery. - - Life was a faithful friend; - Shall I make other of that dark brother - Whom God doth send? - - My dear companions--you - That have been more to me - Than grief or gaiety-- - This sure is true: - That we shall meet once more beyond Death’s door, - Again be merry friends - Where friendship never ends. - - - - -VICTORY - - - Whether you shall see it, or I, - We cannot tell - Now. And it doesn’t matter. - - For ’twill come when Hell - Is covered, and the batter - Of guns fades:--Victory! - - Remember then, you who have fellowed the dead-- - Though the worst loudest last - Thunder before the sun-- - - Remember--though the Hun - And his brute power has passed-- - There are more wars to be won! - - Oh! while life’s Life, to all Eternity:-- - Brothers, press on! Go On To VICTORY! - - - - -DEATH THE REVEALER - - - Within this dim five-windowed house of sense - I watch through coloured glass - The shapes that pass. - Soon must I journey hence - To meet the great winds of the outer world, - And see - (When God has turned the key) - The true and terrible colours of His scheme - Which now I dream. - - - - -F. W. H. - -(_A Portrait_) - - - A thick-set, dark-haired, dreamy little man, - Uncouth to see, - Revolving ever this preposterous plan-- - Within a web of words spread cunningly - To tangle Life--no less, - (Could he expect success!) - - Of Life, he craves not much, except to watch. - Being forced to act, - He walks behind himself, as if to catch - The motive:--an accessory to the fact, - Faintly amused, it seems, - Behind his dreams. - - Yet hath he loved the vision of this world, - And found it good: - The Faith, the fight ’neath Freedom’s flag unfurled, - The friends, the fun, the army-brotherhood. - But faery-crazed or worse - He twists it all to verse! - - - - -POETRY - - - The poems of Earth are lived, - Not scratched with the dirty pen. - They are writ in the sense of things - And sung in the hearts of men. - - Sensuous strains of Spring - Pouring in silver flood, - Summer’s golden delight - Warming the waiting blood. - - Colour, and scent, and sound - Of all the changing year:-- - These are the poems of Earth - Which every man must hear. - - Sorrow, and pain, and love, - Joy, and fear, and regret:-- - These are the burning poems - That all our hearts beget. - - These are the poems of Earth - That every man must pen: - Which you and I make up - And straight forget again. - - - - -PROSE POEMS - - -1. HEAVEN - -“Take me, then,” he said to the angel, “upon this great journey to -Heaven.” - -The angel touched his eyelids. - -“Where, then, is Hell?” asked the man. - -The spirit pointed out a bored-looking man quite near the throne. - -“But he is in Heaven,” protested the mortal. - -“Even so, but he does not know it,” replied the angel. - - -2. THE MOTH - -“It is the brightness of God!” exclaimed the moth, beholding the candle. - -“But it will scorch you worse than Hell’s fire,” warned a friendly -insect. - -“What matter that?” shouted the moth. “It is the brightness of God!” - -Then it flew into the flame and was shrivelled. - - -3. THE ARTIST - -“I am tired of failing!” said the Artist, and he ripped up the picture -with his penknife. - -“Now he will remember my love!” thought the woman, and she smiled. But -when the Artist saw the smile on her face, he took his brushes and made -a picture of it, and the love of the woman was forgotten. - - -4. THE WINDOW GLASS - -Against the dark glass shone like a flower the mouth of his beloved. -But in vain he pressed lips of fire upon the panes--in vain! - -“Then, since Love may not melt,” cried he, “shatter, O Death!” - -God broke the window with His fist. - - -5. IN THE FIELD OF TIME - -In the field of Time, at the end of the path of daisies, grow flaming -poppies, taking the eye more readily than the flowers of gold and white. - -But a man, looking at some he had plucked to wear, discovered (formed -by the inside shape and hue of the petals) a black cross at the bottom -of every scarlet cup, and cast them from him. - - -6. BLUE GRASS - -“Is not this the mountain of blue grass?” asked the stranger. “Why is -the grass as green as in our common meadows?” - -“It was never any other colour,” said the native. - -“It looked blue from afar,” protested the traveller, “and I have -journeyed a long and difficult way to find it.” - -“You had better have stayed at home,” answered the native. - -“No,” returned the stranger, with a sad smile, “I had better have come, -but now I will go home. The grass there has become blue.” - - -7. THE POET - -“What is that lovely thing you have in your heart? Why do you not sing -of it?” asked the Muse. - -“I have not yet lost it,” answered the Poet. - - -8. SORROW - -The lean dagger had gone into the Poet’s heart. - -Shuddering, he plucked it free, lest he should die. And then--by -magic--it became in his hand a shining sword fit to smite down the -sorrow of the world. - - -9. THE MIRACLE - -Why has the Earth taken on a new significance? - -Why is the smoking mist now white music, and the world’s architecture -more wonderful than a fine cathedral? - -It is something that has happened in your heart. - -Perhaps (I do not know) you have learnt to hate yourself or to love a -fellow-being. - - -10. FAITH - - Why am I so many men? - It is because you have not Faith. - - What is Faith? - Faith is a fire. - - But how does a man come by it? - Perhaps God gives it him. - - -11. TIME--THE HORSE - -Whither does Time trot us? And is moonlight brightening the harness -buckles as when children play beneath the rugs, guessing “Where are -we?” and father drives home--home--beneath the stars? - - -12. THE REBUILDING OF REALITY - -“Behold the sunshine, the green earth, the shining sea!” shouted my -Eyes. - -Said Heart: “Oh, I cannot; the realities I knew are gone! Death’s -shadow is upon all this.” - -“Well, it is yours to create realities anew,” smiled Death. “Hitherto -(like the rest) you seem to have done it badly.” - - -13. THE TOKEN - -Because of you I am insatiably curious about death. - -Because of Him who imagined and made you I am able tranquilly to abide -the time. - -Shrivelled in His glory: scorched by His humour: because He has -imagined and made you, I trust and am sure. - - - - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED. - BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GLOUCESTERSHIRE LAD AT HOME AND -ABROAD *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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