PS 3505 .H24 B7 1916 Copy 1 THE BROAD WAY AND OTHER POEMS ON THE GREAT WAR BY HENRY HARMON CHAMBERLIN NANTUCKET August 1916 THE BROAD WAY AND OTHER POEMS ON THE GREAT WAR BY HENRY HARMON CHAMBERLIN NANTUCKET August 1916 ■0^ TO ALL TRUE AMERICANS SEP 25 1916 'CI,A438533 Copyright, 1916. i-'i' by Henry Harmon Chamberlin. CONTENTS. Page The Broad Way 7-9 God and the Kaiser >0-12 ArcadesAmbo ' -^ Sunset '^ The Price '5 To Germany '" ToWilhelm II '7 Birds of Empire io-l9 For England 20-21 To a Friend IL-Ij The Brave O'Leary 24-28 Envoy 29 THE BROAD WAY. ' Wide is the gate and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction. ' ' Where are you going, Germany, Germany? Where are you going, Your foe to slay ? "Against the world My flag's unfurled And my armies are hurled, On this, my day." Who are these with you, Germany, Germany, Blood on their hands. With the dust dyed brown? "I march with my sons To the thunder of guns; You may call us Huns, But we mow you down." What of the smoke, Germany, Germany, Rising thick Along the sky ? "Termonde, Louvain, Homes of the slain. They blazed on the plain, When we passed by.*' What of this wailing, Germany, Germany, Woeful wailing O'er ruined lands ? "Women's wild noise For ravished joys ; And girls and boys With severed hands." What of this hurrying, Germany, Germany, Poor folk hastening Everywhere ? "Whenever we passed, We scattered them fast, Like leaves on the blast, When the trees are bare. What of your future, Germany, Germany, What new lands To overwhelm? "The world I brave O'er land and wave, To make it my grave. Or else my realm." Have you no mercy, Germany, Germany, No least mercy For these undone? "Let poor men rot; My wrath is hot ; Mine eagles blot The shuddering sun." What of your honor, Germany, Germany? What says Rumor Of your good name ? "My hate is gory; And dark my story ; For I call glory What ye call shame." What of the Lord, Germany, Germany? Fear you not His chastening rod ? "Some preachers tell Of the Devil in Hell; I worship him well, Mine only God." Worcester, November, 1914. GOD AND THE KAISER. The Kaiser in his balcony, he talks from dawn till dark To flushed, expectant multitudes who harken in the park, How 'tis war, red war, for a place in the sun For his God and his Zeppelin and big Krupp gun. The Kaiser *mid his myrmidons cries out from morn till night, How all his foes are always wrong and he is al- ways right; How they fight for the right and his God will be true To the Prussians and the Austrians, whatever they may do. They may steal the land in Posen, tilled by the Polack spade; They may sabre Alsace cripples for smiling at parade; They may slaughter folk in Belgium, where his armies violate The words his sires have sworn to for every neutral state. 10 They may shoot the farmer in the ditch and burn the village down; They may ravish all the women for their over- lord's renown; Nothing's wrong for the strong; and his God is on his side, Who even honest decency may therefore over- ride. Arise, arise! beneath the skies too long this ty- rant brags! Ravage his lands from Baltic sands and Monte- negrin craigs! O advance, gallant France! and scatter his fell powers. And wave once more the tricolor from Strass- burg's sacred towers. And England, thou, whose realm is now world's freedom and the sea, Behold, once more, on Flemish shore, there's stern, sad work for thee! For the Lord and His word, thou must smite with thy rod The bloody, treacherous idol whom the Kaiser calls his God. 11 O Thou great Power, who at this hour, still in the heart of man In silent justice of Thy love, dost work Thine holy plan, When all his pride is cast aside in everlasting shame, Have mercy even on this poor fool who doth blaspheme Thy name. Nantucket, August, 1914. 12 ARCADES AMBO {On the Turco-German Alliance) Comrades both in vice and crime, Deeds too vile for decent rhyme, For the worst Of -wars accurst, Well you chose your trysting time ! You vv^ho piled vv^ith heaps of slain Kurdish mount and Syrian plain, Gloating o'er Seas of gore, And you, black vulture of Louvain ! Shall you clasp victorious hands. Reeking over bleeding lands. Battle scarred. Pillage marred, Where your trophied Murder stands ? No ! it cannot, shall not be ! For your doom on land and sea. Truth shall fight And God's might And His love that sets men free. As for you and your renow^n. Horsetail and imperial crown, They shall go Fast or slow. Both alike in ruin down. Worcester, February, 1915. 13 SUNSET Behold the sun, above the misty sea Is whelmed, as in his blood. Black clouds on high With brand of lightening cleave the lowering sky, Save where the western wave glows mournfully ! O Lord of Day and tranquil harvestry And fruitful love ! Thy dreams of peace must die ; 0\er the western world thy beams go by ; And cliff and headland bid goodnight to thee ! Alas, in this vast war must all things fair Perish at once, where Death reaps everywhere His ghastly harvest o'er ten million graves ! Honor and Faith, Virtue and fair Renown And Love and Hope, moaning in blood, go down And night shuts in, over the storm-tossed waters. Nantucket, August, 1914. 14 THE PRICE Not only mourn the brave who died at morn, Who struck their blow and perished in their pride, But mourn the future lives who also died. Vain hopes of generations yet unborn. Nor mourn the stricken children bayonet torn. Shell driven o'er the blazing countryside; But mourn Man's twilight and his eventide, And Brotherhood betrayed, and Faith foresworn. Yea, chiefly mourn the most heartrending cost. Two thousand years' slow progress spent and lost. This goodly oak cut down as by a sword. Brother of Death, Sin's crowned and armed birth, How long shall this new Anarch reign on earth, Unsmitten of Thy thunderbolt, O Lord ? Nantucket, August, 1914. 15 TO GERMANY AND HER APOLOGISTS You say that Russia lit the flames of war ; And England's envy kindled it ; and then Torn Belgian started it; and yet again France, lor her vengeance 'gainst your rising star. But God, who watches from clear skies afar The tribulation of the sons of men, The damning truth must come within his ken. He knows you for the miscreants that you are. Twice did the nations beg that your ally. The Hapsburg Eagle, let her prey go by. Till the world's judgment made her grievance plain ; And ye have twice refused ; and blood ye spilt With solemn counsel of deliberate guilt. Yours be the brand, and yours the curse of Cain ! Worcester, December, 1914. 16 TO WILHELM 11 Marplot of war, Knight of the tarnished mail ! You say the sword was thrust into your hand ; 'Twas Belgium's blame, you trod across her land ; And English guile would now your fame assail. Against God's word, how shall your lies prevail? Your honor's torn to rags at His command ; Mercy and Justice long have fled your land ; And even your brute force at last must fail. In trumpet tones beyond the cannon's roar, The Truth proclaims you false forevermore. Behold the blazing script upon the wall. Ye who the damned orgy sit beside, A new Belshazzar, drunken in your pride, Needing no Daniel to foretell your fall! Worcester, February, 1914. 17 BIRDS OF EMPIRE. O Frederick Barbarossa, Wake, you are needed now ! The Fatherland's in danger ; The ravens leave the howe. They drive against the stormwind, Toward Ypres' misty plain ; Afar they scent the carnage — The heaps of German slain. O'er Dixmude's smouldering ruins They raise their baneful cry, Where Prussia's fated thousands In bloody harvest lie. O'er Polish bogs and marshes, By Warta's crimson stream, O'er broken guns and eagles, Loud, loud the ravens scream. In the Vosges, the frozen passes, In the Argonne forest frore, They croak the German dirges For an empire lost once more. O Frederick Barbarossa, You slumbered all too long ! Your sons forgot their knighthood, And dreamed a rule of wrong. 18 They spurned the ermined mantle Of Justice, Truth and Right; For crown and consecration They sought the Prince of Night. Hark, how the circling ravens Scream o'er their murdering hordes, Foreboding fresh disaster For their dishonored swords ! In vain they rage and ruin, Pillage and sack in vain ; For the ravens wheel above them And gorge upon their slain. Yea, in the fields of Europe, Where shadowy Twilight gropes. They glut them on the heart's blood Of slaughtered German hopes. Worcester, November, 1914. 19 FOR ENGLAND {To Certain American Merchants.) Ye who for Germany's gain Would break the British fleet, And sell your copper and wheat For a price beyond trade's laws, Would you add your country's pain To Europe's infinite woes ; And fight for Tyranny's cause. And join old England's foes ? For this did the Serbs advance To win the war-plowed field ; Or stricken Poland yield Her towns to the Teuton twice ; Or the beautiful Land of France To the trenches her heroes speed — That ye might gain your price ? For this did Belgium bleed ? England, Liberty's peer. Would you be false to her ? Gains't her now would you stir Who fights your battles today? For all you hold most dear Her brave battalions go Into the thick of the fray. To combat a bestial foe. Would you allow her to fall Under the tyrant's guns, She who gave to your sons 20 Liberty 'ere you were born? Bountiful mother of all The prosperous ways of peace, Help her fight on till the morn. When the night of horror shall cease ! England, England, my own! For you and your bleeding friends, Justice finally sends Tidings of victory sure. On the ocean winds they are blown Forth to the battle for you ; And Freedom still shall endure ; And God to your cause is true. Worcester, February, 1915. 21 TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME FOR CHRISTMAS A BASKET OF PINE CONES, WITH THE WISH THAT THEIR BALSAM MIGHT SERVE AS A REMINDER OF SPRING. Your blazing cones my study fill With fragrance of departed Spring ! But Winter reigns and prospers still, And Carnage droops no failing wing. If we must play the craven's part, And welcome vultures to our shore, Oh ! how can I feel joy at heart, Even if the grass grows green once more ? Far from our woods my thoughts must go, Where the devoted millions spend Their life blood mid the driving snow. For Freedom, we will not defend- We see them welter in their blood ! We may not answer to their call ! We fondly boast that ocean flood Will keep our gold and save us all. Alas ! Dishonor comes to flout Our pleasant dreams of ocean tide, No storm winds ever shut her out; No howling waves her paths divide. 22 Think ye to raise up Freedom's goal In some sequestered ocean grot? She dwells within the hero's soul ; And fools and cowards know her not. Oh ! how can I one moment pause To trace your friendship in the flame, When heroes fight in Freedom's cause, And we alone must feel the shame ? Christmas Day, 1915. 23 THE BRAVE O'LEARY Lance Corporal (now Sergeant) Michael O'Leary, of the Ist battalion, Irish Guards, won his V. C. for conspicuous bravery at Cuinchy, on February 1, 1915. When forminpr one of the storming party which advanced against the enemy's barricades, he rushed to the front and himself killed five Germans who were holding the first barricade, after which he attacked the second barricade,about sixty yards further on, which he captured after killing three of the enemy and making prisoners of two more. Thus, he prevented the rest of the attacking party from being fired upon, C Official Record.) Drink to Coporil Michael O'Leary ! Drink to Erin beyond the Foam ! Here's to our hero, Michael O'Leary ! Here's the coleen he left at home! O Michael O'Leary, Your chest is hairy ! And here's to your health for many a day ! For the Germans in France, Ye gin 'em a dance Beyont the salt wather at La Bassee. Whin morning broke, The wurrd was spoke For ter charge the Bosche in the brickfield there ; An' the gray-bellied Huns Had wan o' their guns And a full attindance for morning prayer. We charged in a run, Each son of a gun And the shrapnel shrieked and stormed in our ears ! On, on we come, Exceptin' some Who fell in the bloom of their foine young years ! 24 Ye gin 'em a yell, An' we dropped like Hell; We was blinded an' stifled an' sore distressed ; But O'Leary ran Like a crazy man, An' his feet wint faster than all the rest. He come to the first Dutch trinch athirst Fer to have some fun wid thim Germans at last. His feet was crazy. Though far from lazy ; But his moind was keen as the winthry blast. Foive Bosche peered 'round Above the ground, The smoke was enough to make thim blind. O'Leary stopped In his tracks, an' dropped, Wid the company thirrty yards behind. The big gun stuck In the mire and muck, The Germans turrned intirely green ; They tugged, an' sweat, An' they swore, you bet. Whin they tried to slew round the damned ould machine. 25 Before they could slew For ter aim her true, An' woipe our company out wid their ball, O'Leary took aim At the Proosian game. An' shot thim all down; to Hell wid thim all ! Before the byes Could clear their eyes, An' hurry forn'st, for ter capture the gun. He come to the fince Of the second trinch. An' shot three more, before they run. There wint up a cheer From the mix-up theer, That chased the lingering shades of night. An' the smoke an' the rack Was all rolled back, And over the brickyards gleamed the light. The walls was marred Wid shot, an' charred ; They cracked an' fell from overhead ; The crumbled brick Was scattered thick. And over it all, the poor, torn dead. 26 But Michael agin To the trinch an' the min Wid a Proosian prisoner on ayther side, He marched along In the sunlight strong, As debonnaire as a maiden bride. O drink to Corporil Michael O'Leary ! Here's the coleen who yearrns afar ! Here's to her hero, Michael O'Leafy ! Here's to our sweetheart, Erin Go Bragh ! The Teutons tell How we should sell Our honor to thim, but I say, "Not much!" Whin Freedom comes To the sound of the drums. One Irish is akel to tin of thim Dutch. They talk very strong Of Ireland's wrong ; But they done up Poland an' Belgium brown. Oh! I tell ye right. Whin it comes to a fight. The Irish gits up an' the Dutch goes down 1 Some traitors an' fools May kick like mules ; But the Imerald Isle is tried an' true ; We stand together In stormy weather ; An wc are goin* to pull the ould Impire through. 27 Then here's to O'Leary, The crame of the dairy ; An' here's to all good Irishmin ! May they fast or slow To Potsdam go ; An* shoot the ould slob at his house in Berlin ! Thin drink to Coporil Michael O'Leary, The heart in his breast, the moind in his dome Whin they hear of the deeds of Michael O'Leary, They won't talk timperance there at home ! Drink to Corporil Michael O'Leary I Here's the coleen by the fire alone, Waitin' her hero, Michael O'Leary, Ireland's pride and England's own ! Worcester, February, 1915. 28 ENVOY TO THE ALLIES Soldiers of Freedom ! valiant hearts and strong I Who fought the fight through dark and dubious days, 'Till broken was the tyrant's rule of wrong, What words can tell the glory of your praise? Ye braved the peril; we but share the gain; Blood of your sons our liberties renewed; But we the sacred privilege maintain, To crown your sacrifice with gratitude. Nantucket, July. 1916. 29 LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 018 603 775 3 '•