A A . 1 ^^-^ j^9l u =^=^ 3; 5 "" ^^^^tf^^^B9 8 .. -t> WKbKSF'^ / ^^^^^^^p^^^^^r^ 6 i^— — -< 7 ^=^= I» ^jg^i^- 4 T r wK^ 3 Ife* ^^r^- \J»»« •^-i /^ ■!^i?> •^- .•>* ';s^ '-" r :^ ■fRk*i LIBfiARY ONiVERSiTY 0^ CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE i li^AR-TIME VERSES BY OWEN SEAMAN J r f WAR-TIME WAR-TIME VERSES BY OWEN SEAMAN LONDON CONSTABLE & COMPANY LTD 1915 TR6037 Reprinted by the courteous permission of the Proprietors of Punch. Printed in Great Britain. CONTENTS Pro Patria Dies Irae . The Call of England Probation ..... An Imperial Overture Another "Scrap of Paper" Thomas of the Light Heart . To the Enemy, on his Achievement Canute and the Kaiser To a False Patriot . To the Shirker : A Last Appeal To the Bitter End . In Memory of Field-Marshal Earl Truthful Willie The Old Sea-Rover Speaks The War-Lord's New Year's Eve To "General Janvier" The Murderers Moses II. . The Mark of the Beast The Gods of Germany The Sorrows of the Sultan For the Red Cross . Between Midnight and Morning Robe rts PAGE 7 9 II 13 15 18 20 22 H 27 29 31 33 35 38 40 4^ 44 46 48 50 52 54 56 WAR-TIME Pro Patria England, in this great fight to which you go Because, where Honour calls you, go you must, Be glad, whatever comes, at least to know You have your quarrel just. Peace was your care ; before the nations' bar Her cause you pleaded and her ends you sought ; But not for her sake, being what you are, Could you be bribed and bought. Others may spurn the pledge of land to land, May with the brute sword stain a gallant past ; But by the seal to which you set your hand, Thank God, you still stand fast ! Forth, then, to front that peril of the deep With smiling lips and in your eyes the light, Steadfast and confident, of those who keep Their storied scutcheon bright. PRO PATRIA And we, whose burden is to watch and wait — High-hearted ever, str ong in faith and prayer, We ask what offering we may consecrate, What humble service share. To steel our souls against the lust of ease ; To find our welfare in the common good ; To hold together, merging all degrees In one wide brotherhood ; — To teach that he who saves himself is lost ; To bear in silence though our hearts may bleed ; To spend ourselves, and never count the cost, For others' greater need ; — To go our quiet ways, subdued and sane ; To hush all vulgar clamour of the street ; With level calm to face alike the strain Of triumph or defeat ; — This be our part, for so we serve you best, So best confirm their prowess and their pride, Your warrior sons, to whom in this high test Our fortunes we confide. August I2f 1914. 8 Dies Irae To the German Kaiser Amazing Monarch ! who at various times, Posing as Europe's self-appointed saviour, Afforded copy for our ribald rhymes By your behaviour ; We nursed no malice ; nay, we thanked you much Because your head-piece, swollen like a tumour, Lent to a dullish world the needed touch Of saving humour. What with your wardrobes stuffed with warrior gear. Your gander-step parades, your prancing Prussians, Your menaces that shocked the deafened sphere With rude concussions ; Your fist that turned the pinkest rivals pale Alike with sceptre, chisel, pen or palette. And could at any moment, gloved in mail, Smite like a mallet ; DIES IRAE Master of all the Arts, and, what was more. Lord of the limelight blaze that let us know it — You seemed a gift designed on purpose for The flippant poet. Time passed and put to these old jests an end ; Into our open hearts you found admission. Ate of our bread and pledged us like a friend Above suspicion. You shared our griefs with seeming-gentle eyes ; You moved among us cousinly entreated, Still hiding, under that fair outward guise, A heart that cheated. And now the mask is down, and forth you stand Known for a King whose word is no great matter, A traitor proved, for every honest hand To strike and shatter. This was the " Day " foretold by yours and you — In whispers here, and there with beery clamours — You and your rat-hole spies and blustering crew Of loud Potsdamers. And lo, there dawns another, swift and stern. When on the wheels of wrath, by Justice' token, Breaker of God's own Peace, you shall in turn Yourself be broken. August ig, igi4. 10 The Call of England Come, all ye who love her well, Ye whose hopes are one with hers, One with hers the hearts that swell When the pulse of memory stirs ; She from whom your life ye take Claims you ; how can ye forget ? Come, your honour stands at stake ! iPay your debt ! By her sons that hold the deep, Nerves at strain and sinews tense. Sleepless-eyed that ye may sleep Girdled in a fast defence ; By her sons that face the fire Where the battle-hnes are set — Give your country her desire ! Pay your debt ! He that, leaving child and wife In our keeping, unafraid. Goes to dare the deadly strife. Shall he see his trust betrayed ? II THE CALL OF ENGLAND Shall he come again and find Hollow cheeks and eyelids wet ? Guard them as your kith and kind ! Pay your debt ! Sirs, we should be shamed indeed If the bitter cry for bread, Children's cries in cruel need, Rose and fell uncomforted ! Ah, but, since the patriot glow Burns in English bosoms yet. Twice and thrice ye will, I know, Pay your debt ! August 26, igi4. 12 Probation To a King's Recruit Now is your time of trial, now When into dusk the glamour pales And the first glow of passion fails That lit your eyes and flushed your brow In that great moment when you made your vow. The Vision fades ; you scarce recall The sudden swelling of the heart, The swift resolve to have your part In this the noblest quest of all By which our word is given to stand or fall. Your mother's pride, your comrades' praise — All that romance that seemed so fair Grows dim, and you are left to bear The prose of duty's sombre ways And labour of the long unlovely days. Yet here's the test to prove you kin With those to whom we trust our fate, Sober and steadfast, clean and straight, In that stern school of discipline Hardened to war against the foe within. 13 PROBATION For only so, in England's sight, By that ordeal's searching flame Found worthy of your fathers' fame, With all your spirit's armour bright Can you go forth in her dear cause to fight. September 23, IQI4- 14 An Imperial Overture [From notes taken by a British airman while engaged in hovering over the Kaiser's headquarters at . The name of the place is excised because the Press Bureau Authorities do not wish the Kaiser to be in- formed of his own whereabouts.] Now let an awful silence hold the field, And everybody else's mouth be sealed ; For lo 1 your Kaiser (sound the warning gong !) Prepares to loose his clarion lips in song. In time of War the poet gets his chance, When even wingless Pegasi will prance ; Yet We, whose pinions oft outsoared the crow's. Have hitherto confined Ourself to prose. But who shall doubt that We could sing as well as That warrior-bard, Tyrtaeus, late of Hellas, Who woke the Spartans up with words and chorus Twenty-six centuries B.U. (Before Us) ? Also, since Truth is near allied to Beauty, We are convinced that We shall prove more fluty Than certain British scribes whom We have read (Recently published by The Bodley Head). 15 AN IMPERIAL OVERTURE Well, then, it is Our purpose to inflame Our soldiers' arteries with lust of fame ; To give them something in the lyric line That shall be tantamount to fumes of wine, Yet not too heady, Hke the champagne (sweet) That lately left them dormant in the street, So that the British, coming up just then. Took them for swine and not for gentlemen. Rather we look to brace them, soul and limb, With something in the nature of a hymn. Which they may chant, assisted by the band, While working backwards to the Fatherland. Put to the air of Deutschland fiber alles Or else to one of Our own sacred ballets. The lilt of it should leave their hearts so fiery That at the finish they would make enquiry — " What would our Attila to-day have done ? " And, crying " Havoc ! " go and play the Hun. For there are some cathedrals standing yet. And heavy is the task to Culture set, Ere We may lay aside the holy rod Made to chastise the foes of Us and God. And now that We are fairly in the vein Let Us proceed to build the lofty strain. Ho 1 bid the Muse to enter and salute The burnished toe of Our Imperial boot ! i6 AN IMPERIAL OVERTURE Hush ! guns ! and, ye howitzers, cease your fire ! We, William, are about to sound the lyre ! Note. — Unfortunately the actual composition of which this is the preface has been censored, as likely to have a disintegrating effect upon the discipline of our forces at the front. September jo, 1914. B 17 Another "Scrap of Paper" WiLHELM, I do not know your whereabouts. The gods elude us. When we would detect your Earthly address, 'tis veiled in misty doubts Of devious conjecture. At Nancy, in a moist trench, I am told That you performed an unrehearsed lustration ; That there you linger, having caught a cold, Followed by inflammation. Others assert that your asbestos hut. Conveyed (with you inside) to Polish regions, Promises to afford a likely butt To Russia's winged legions. But, whether this or that (or both) be true, Or merely tales of which we have the air full, In any case I say, " Wilhelm, do, Do, if you can, be careful ! " For if, by evil chance, upon your head. Your precious head, some impious shell alighted I should regard my dearest hopes as dead. My occupation blighted. i8 ANOTHER "SCRAP OF PAPER" I want to save you for another scene, Having perused a certain Manifesto That stimulates an itching, very keen, In every Briton's best toe — An Order issued to your Army's flower. Giving instructions most precise and stringent For the immediate wiping out of our " Contemptible " contingent. Well, that's a reason why I'd see you spared ; So take no risks, but rather heed my warning. Because I have a little plan prepared For Potsdam, one fine morning. I see you, ringed about with conquering foes — See you, in penitential robe (with taper). Invited to assume a bending pose And eat that scrap of paper ! October y, 1914. 19 Thomas of the Light Heart Facing the guns, he jokes as well As any Judge upon the Bench ; Between the crash of shell and shell His laughter rings along the trench ; He seems immensely tickled by a Projectile which he calls a " Black Maria." He whistles down the day-long road, And, when the chilly shadows fall And heavier hangs the weary load. Is he down-hearted ? Not at all. 'Tis then he takes a light and airy View of the tedious route to Tipperary. His songs are not exactly hymns ; He never learned them in the choir ; And yet they brace his dragging limbs Although they miss the sacred fire ; Although his choice and cherished gems Do not include " The Watch upon the Thames." 20 THOMAS OF THE LIGHT HEART He takes to fighting as a game ; He docs no talking, through his hat, Of holy missions ; all the same He has his faith — be sure of that ; He'll not disgrace his sporting breed, Nor play what isn't cricket. There's his creed. October 14, igi4. 21 To the Enemy, on his Achievement Now wanes the third moon since your conquering host Was to have laid our weakHng army low, And walked through France at will. For that loud boast What have you got to show ? A bomb that chipped a tower of Notre Dame, Leaving its mark like trippers' knives that scar The haunts of beauty — that's the best reclame You have achieved so far. Paris, that through her humbled Triumph-Arch Was doomed to see you tread your fathers' tracks — Paris, your goal, now lies a six days' march Behind your homing backs. Pressed to the borders where you lately passed Bulging with insolence and fat with pride. You stake your all upon a desperate cast To stem the gathering tide. 22 TO THE ENEMY, ON HIS ACHIEVEMENT Eastward the Russian draws you to his fold, Content, on his own ground, to bide his day, Out of whose toils not many feet of old Found the returning way. And still along the seas our watchers keep Their grip upon your throat with bands of steel, While that Armada, which should rake the deep, Skulks in its hole at Kiel. So stands your record— stay, I cry you grace — I wronged you. There is Belgium, where your sword Has bled to death a free and gallant race Whose life you held in ward ; Where on your trail the smoking land lies bare Of hearth and homestead, and the dead babe clings About its murdered mother's breast — ah, there, Yes, you have done great things ! October 21, 1914- 23 Canute and the Kaiser [Thoughts extracted from a sea-shell, howitzer pattern, on the Belgian coast.] There was a King by name Canute (In ancient jargon known as Knut), And I, for one, will not dispute The kingly figure which he cut ; A god in mufti — so his courtiers said — Whatever thing he chose to have a try at, He did it (loosely speaking) on his head. By just remarking, " Fiat I " One day they sat him by the sea To put his virtue to the test. And there, without conviction, he Threw off the following, by request : — " Ocean," he said, " I see your waves are wet " (Bravely he spoke, but in his heart he funked 'em), " So to your further progress here I set A period, or punctumy H CANUTE AND THE KAISER He knew it wasn't any good Talking like that ; and when the foam Made for his feet (he knew it would) He turned at once and made for home ; And " I'm no god, but just a man," he cried, " And you, my sycophants, are sorry rotters, Who told your Knut that he could dare the tide To damp his heavenly trotters." The scene was changed. Another strand ; Another god (alleged) was there (In spirit, you must understand ; His actual frame occurred elsewhere) ; — " element designed for German ships, Whose future lies," said he, " upon the water, I strike at England ! Ho ! " and licked his lips For lust of loot and slaughter. Then by the sea was answer made, And down the wind this word was blown : " Thus far ! but here your steps are stayed ; England is mine ; I guard my own ! " And, as upon his ear this challenge fell. Out of the deep there also fell upon it, or Close in the neighbourhood, a singing shell From H.M. Mersey^ Monitor. 25 CANUTE AND THE KAISER And just as old Canute (or Knut) Stopped not to parley when he found His line of exit nearly cut, But moved his feet to drier ground, So too that other Monarch, much concerned About his safety, looked no longer foam-ward, But said, " This sea's too much for me," and turned Strategically home-ward. October 28, 1914. 26 To a False Patriot He came obedient to the Call ; He might have shirked like half his mates Who, while their comrades fight and fall, Still go to swell the football gates. And you, a patriot in your prime. You waved a flag above his head, And hoped he'd have a high old time, And slapped him on the back and said : — " You'll show 'em what we British are ! Give us your hand, old pal, to shake ; " And took him round from bar to bar And made him drunk — for England's sake. That's how you helped him. Yesterday, Clear-eyed and earnest, keen and hard, He held himself the soldier's way — And now they've got him under guard. That doesn't hurt you ; you're all right ; Your easy conscience takes no blame ; But he, poor boy, with morning's light. He eats his heart out, sick with shame. 27 TO A FALSE PATRIOT What's that to you ? You understand Nothing of all his bitter pain ; You have no regiment to brand ; You have no uniform to stain ; No vow of service to abuse, No pledge to King and country due ; But he had something dear to lose, And he has lost it — thanks to you. November 4, igi4. 28 To the Shirker : A Last Appeal Now of your free choice, while the chance is yours To share their glory who have gladly died Shielding the honour of our island shores And that fair heritage of starry pride, — Now, ere another evening's shadow falls. Come, for the trumpet calls. What if to-morrow through the land there runs This message for an everlasting stain ? — " England expected each of all her sons To do his duty — but she looked in vain ; Now she demands, by order sharp and swift, What should have been a gift." For so it must be, if her manhood fail To stand by England in her deadly need ; If still her wounds are but an idle tale The word must issue which shall make you heed ; And they who left her passionate pleas unheard Will have to hear that word. 29 TO THE SHIRKER : A LAST APPEAL And, losing your free choice, you also lose Your right to rank, on Memory's shining scrolls, With those, your comrades, who made haste to choose The willing service asked of loyal souls ; From all who gave such tribute of the heart Your name will stand apart. I think you cannot know what meed of shame Shall be their certain portion who pursue Pleasure " as usual " while their country's claim Is answered only by the gallant few. Come, then, betimes, and on her altar lay Your sacrifice to-day ! November ii, igi4. 30 To the Bitter End A word with the War-Lord A RUMOUR comes from Rome (where rumours breed) That you are sick of taking blow on blow, And would inter with all convenient speed The hatchet wielded by your largest foe. Is it the shadow Christmas casts before That makes the iron of your soul unbend, And melt in prayer for this unholy war (Meaning the part that pinches most) to end ? Is it your fear to mark at that high feast The writing on the wall that seals your fate. And, where the Christ-star watches in the East, To hear the guns that thunder at your gate ? For on your heart no Christmas Peace can fall. The chimes shall be a tocsin, and the red Glow of the Yule-wood embers shall recall A myriad smouldering pyres of murdered dead. 31 TO THE BITTER END And anguish, wailing to the wintry skies, Shall with its dirges drown the sacred hymn, And round your royal hearth the curse shall rise Of lowly hearths laid waste to suit your whim. And you shall think on altars left forlorn, On temple-aisles made desolate at your nod, Where never a white-robed choir this holy morn Shall chant their greeting to the Birth of God. Peace ? There is none for you, nor can be none ; For still shall Memory, like a fetid breath, Poison your life-days while the slow hours run, Till it be stifled in the dust of death. November i8, 1914- 32 In Memory of Field-Marshal Earl Roberts [Born 1832. Died, on Service at the Front, November 14TI1, 1914.] He died, as soldiers die, amid the strife, Mindful of England in his latest prayer ; God, of His love, would have so fair a life Crowned with a death as fair. He might not lead the battle as of old, But, as of old, among his own he went. Breathing a faith that never once grew cold, A courage still unspent. So was his end ; and, in that hour, across The face of War a wind of silence blew, And bitterest foes paid tribute to the loss Of a great heart and true. But we who loved him, what have we to lay For sign of worship on his warrior-bier ? What homage, could his lips but speak to-day, Would he have held most dear ? c 33 IN MEMORY OF F.-M. EARL ROBERTS Not grief, as for a life untimely reft ; Not vain regret for counsel given in vain ; Not pride of that high record he has left, Peerless and pure of stain ; But service of our lives to keep her free, The land he served ; a pledge above his grave To give her even such a gift as he, The soul of loyalty, gave. That oath we phght, as now the trumpets swell His requiem, and the men-at-arms stand mute. And through the mist the guns he loved so well Thunder a last salute ! November 25, 1914. 34 Truthful Willie [Suggested by an American's interview with the Crown Prince and also by Wordsworth's " We arc Seven."] A SIMPLE earnest-minded youth, Who wore in both his eyes A calm pellucid lake of Truth — What should he know of lies ? I met a gentle German Prince, His name was Truthful Will, An honest type — and, ever since. His candour haunts me still. " About this War — come tell me, Sir, If you would be so kind. Just any notions which occur To your exalted mind." " Frankly, I cannot bear," said he, " The very thought of strife ; It seems so sad ; it seems to me A wicked waste of life. 35 TRUTHFUL WILLIE " Thank Father's God that I can say My constant aim was Peace ; I simply lived to see the Day {Den Tag) when wars would cease. " But, just as I was well in train To realise my dream, Came England, all for lust of gain, And spoilt my beauteous scheme. " But tell me how the rumours run ; Be frank and tell the worst Touching myself ; you speak to one With whom the Truth comes first." " Prince," I replied, " the vulgar view Pictured you on your toes Eager for gore ; they say that you Were ever bellicose. CC ) Twas you, the critics say, who led The loud War Party's cry For blood and iron." " Oh ! " he said, " Oh, what a dreadful lie ! " ' War Party ' ? Well, I'm Father's pet, And, if such things had been. He must have let me know, and yet I can't think what you mean." 36 TRUTHFUL WILLIE *' But your Bcrnhardi," I replied, " He preached the Great War Game." " ' Bcrnhardi ' ! who was he ? " he cried ; " I never heard his name ! " Dear Father must be told of him ; Father, who loathes all war, Is looking rather grey and grim, But that should make him roar ! " So, with a smile that knew no art, He left me well content Thus to have communed, heart to heart, With one so innocent. And still I marvelled, having scanned Those eyes so full of Truth, " Oh why do men misunderstand This bright and blameless youth ? " December 9, ic^l4. 37 The Old Sea-Rover Speaks [Referring to our victory off the Falkland Islands, the Tagliche Rundschau remarks : " On board our North Sea ships our sailors will clench their teeth and all hearts will burn with the feeling, ' England the enemy ! Up and at the enemy ! ' " The gallant bombardment of defenceless towns on our East Coast would appear to be the immediate outcome of this intelligent attitude,] Behind your lock-gates stowed away, Out of the great tides' ebb and flow, How could you guess, this many a day, Who was your leading naval foe ? But now you learn, a little late — So loud the rumours from the sea grow — England's the thing you have to hate, And not (for instance) Montenegro. The facts are just as you've been told ; Further disguise would be but vain ; We have a penchant from of old For being masters on the main ; It is a custom which we caught From certain sea-kings who begat us, And that is why we like the thought That you propose to " up and at " us. 38 THE OLD SEA-ROVER SPEAKS Come where you will — the seas arc wide ; And choose your Day — they're all ahke ; You'll find us ready where we ride In calm or storm and wait to strike ; But — if of shame your shameless Huns Can yet retrieve some casual traces — Please fight our men and ships and guns, Not women-folk and watering-places. December 2 J, igi4. 39 The War-Lord's New Year's Eve Kaiser, what vigil will you keep to-night ? Before the altar will you lay again Your " shining armour," and renew your plight To wear it ever clean of stain ? Or, while your priesthood chants the Hymn of Hate, Like incense will you Hft to God your breath In praise that you are privileged by fate To do His Httle ones to death ? Will you make " resolutions " ? — saying, " Lo ! I will be humble. Though my own bright sword Has shattered Belgium, yet will I bestow The credit on a higher Lord. " What am I but His minister of doom ? The smoke of burning temples shall ascend, With none to intercept the savoury fume. Straight upward to my honoured Friend." 40 THE WAR-LORD'S NEW YEAR'S EVE Or docs your heart admit, in hours like these, God is not mocked with words ; His judgment stands ; Nor all the waters of His cleansing seas Can wash the blood-guilt from your hands ? Make your account with Him as best you can. What other hope has this New Year to give ? For outraged earth has laid on you a ban Not to be lifted while you live. December jo, igi4. 41 To "General Janvier" [" In the Spring a young man's fancy . . ."] At it, old warrior ! do your worst ! Here's Fevrier coming, moist and blowy, And any trench you leave for him Not saturated to the brim He will accommodate its thirst As in the days of Noe. But we, well-armed in every pore Against the tricks you mean to try on, Will stick it out through slush and slime And bide, as best we may, our time Till General Mars begins to roar Just like a British Hon. And ere his exit, Hke a lamb, The sloppy mess shall all be tidied. And (since I can't believe that K. Has said that things won't move till May) We shall step out, as Shem and Ham Did when the flood subsided. 42 TO "GENERAL JANVIER" Spring ! Ah, to what a sanguine view Thoughts of the vernal prime provoke us ! Yet never in my whole career Can I recall a single year When I so much looked forward to The advent of the crocus. For with the Spring, when youth is free To execute its inward yearning. Like to a lark (or other bird) The soul of Thomas shall be stirred, And to Berlin I hope to see The young man's fancy turning. January 20, igiS- 43 The Murderers Lines addressed to their Master If I were asked what gives me most amaze Among your signs of mental aberration, I should select, from several curious traits. Your lack of commonplace imagination. You seem to think, if once you win the day. You justify your means ; it won't much matter What laws of man you broke to get your way. What rules of chivalry you chose to shatter. Is that your reading in the glass of Time ? And has your swollen head become so rotten That you suppose success could cancel crime. Or murder in its triumph be forgotten ? Man shall not live, King, by bread alone. Though spiced with blood of innocent lives for leaven ; He must have breath of honour round him blown As vital as the very air of heaven. 44 THE MURDERERS What should it serve you, though your end were won And earth were made a mat to wipe your boot on, If every decent race beneath the sun Spits for contempt upon the name of Teuton ? January 2y, 1915. 45 Moses II To the New Lord of Islam He led the Chosen People forth ; Over the Red Sea tramped their legions ; They wandered East, they wandered North Through very vague and tedious regions, Ploughing a lot of desolating sand Before they struck the Promised Land. And you, who play so many parts, And figure in such fancy poses, Now, poring over Syrian charts. Dressed for the character of Moses, In spirit lead your Turks, a happy band, Bound for another Promised Land. Promises you have made before ; And doubtless your adopted Bosches Deemed the Canal would lend its floor To pass them through without goloshes, As though it were a segment of the dry Peninsula of Sinai. 46 MOSES II And when they feared to lose their way You answered them with ready wit : " Oh ! You'll have a pillar of cloud by day, And through the night a fiery ditto, But never said that these would be supplied By airmen on the other side. Nor did you mention how the sun Promotes a thirst in desert places. Nor how their route was like to run A little short of green oases, Because the wells that glad the wanderer's sight Have been removed by dynamite. Come down, fool, from Pisgah's heights, Where, stung by Furies misbegotten. You counterfeit Mosaic flights. Aching for Egypt's corn and cotton ; Think how it makes the local fellah smile To hear your ' Watch upon the Nile ! " February j, igi^. 47 The Mark of the Beast [In a Munich paper Herr Ganghofer recites the follow- ing remark of the Kaiser's, whose special journalistic confidant he is said to be : " To possess Kultur means to have the deepest conscientiousness and the highest morality. My Germans possess that."] 'Tis enough that we know you have said it ; We feel that the facts correspond With your speech as a Person of credit, Whose word is as good as his bond ; Who are we that our critics should quarrel With the flattering doctrine you preach — That the German, in all that is moral, Is an absolute peach ? But the puzzle grows odder and odder : If your people are spotless of blame. Being perfectly sound cannon-fodder. Then whose is the fault and the shame ? If it's just from a deep sense of duty That they prey upon woman and priest. And their minds are a model of Beauty, Then who is the Beast ? 48 THE MARK OF THE BEAST For a Beast is at work in this matter ; We have seen — and the traces endure — The red blood of the innocent spatter The print of his horrible spoor ; On their snouts, hke the lovers of Circe — Your men that are changed into swine — The Mark of the Beast-without-mercy Is set for a sign. You have posed (next to God) as the pillar That steadies the fabric of State, Whence issues the brave baby-killer SuppUed with his hymnal of hate ; Once known for a chivalrous knight, he Now hogs with the Gadarene herd ; Since it can't be the other Almighty, How has it occurred ? When at last they begin to be weary Of sluicing their virtues in slime. And they put the embarrassing query : — " Who turned us to brutes of the prime ? Full of culture and most conscientious, Who made us a bestial crew ? Who pounded the poisons that drench us ? I wouldn't be you. February lo, igiS- 49 J) The Gods of Germany [A certain German hierarch declares that it goes well with his country. He finds it unthinkable that the enemy should be permitted to " trample under foot the fresh, joyous, religious life of Germany."] Lift up your jocund hearts, beloved friends ! From East and West the heretic comes swoop- ing, But all in vain his impious strength he spends If you refuse to let him catch you stooping ; All goes serenely up to date ; Lift up your hearts in hope (and hate) ! Deutschland — that beacon in the general night — Which faith and worship keep their fixed abode in. Shall teach the infidel that Might is Right, Spreading the gospel dear to Thor and Odin ; let us, in this wicked war, Stick tight to Odin and to Thor 1 50 THE GODS OF GERMANY Over our race these gods renew their reign ; For them your piety sets the joy-bells pealing ; Louvain and Rheims and many a shattered fane Attest the force of your religious feehng ; Not Thor's own hammer could have made A better job of this crusade. In such a cause all ye that lose your breath Shall have a place reserved in high Valhalla ; And ye shall get, who die a Moslem's death, The fresh young houri promised you by Allah ; Between the two — that chance and this — Your Heaven should be hard to miss. February ly, igi5. 51 The Sorrows of the Sultan Borne on the breezes of the West-Sou' -West, What are these sounds one hears That break upon my post-meridian rest, And, falHng on the ears Of my devoted ladies of the harem, Scare 'em ? I tell my people 'tis the conquering Huns That let off fires of joy ; But I know better ; they are British guns. Intended to destroy The peace I suck from my narcotic hubble- bubble. How can I cope with these accursed giaours If once my forts give out ? I miss the usual Concert of the Powers ; I have no ships about ; Save where in dock the Goeben, full of bruises, Snoozes. 52 THE SORROWS OF THE SULTAN O how I loathe that vessel ! How her name Stinks in my quivering nose, Since that infernal juncture when she came Flying before her foes, And in my haven dropped her beastly anchor (Blank her !). Abdul ! I would that I had shared your plight, Or Europe seen my heels. Before the hour when Allah bound me tight To William's chariot-wheels ! Before, in fact, our two ways, mine and his, met. Kismet ! March 3, igis. 53 For the Red Cross Ye that have gentle hearts and fain To succour men in need, There is no voice could ask in vain With such a cause to plead — The cause of those that in your care, Who know the debt to honour due. Confide the wounds they proudly wear. The wounds they took for you. And yonder where the battle's waves Broke yesterday o'erhead, Where now the swift and shallow graves Cover our English dead, Think how your sisters play their part. Who serve as in a holy shrine. Tender of hand and brave of heart, Under the Red Cross Sign. Ah, by that symbol, worshipped still, Of life-blood sacrificed, That lonely Cross on Calvary's hill Red with the wounds of Christ ; 54 FOR THE RED CROSS By that free gift to none denied, Let Pity pierce you like a sword, And love go out to open wide The gate of life restored. September 9, igi4. 55 Between Midnight and Morning Lines written for "King Albert's Book" You that have faith to look with fearless eyes Beyond the tragedy of a world at strife, And trust that out of night and death shall rise The dawn of ampler life ; Rejoice, whatever anguish rend your heart, That God has given you, for a priceless dower, To live in these great times and have your part In Freedom's crowning hour. That you may tell your sons who see the light High in the heaven, their heritage to take : — '' I saw the powers of darkness put to flight ! I saw the morning break ! " December i6, 1914. BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE. WORKS BY OWEN SEAMAN " Owen Seaman is easily at the head of his craft, the most brilliant writer of feather-heeled verse since Calverley." The Academy. BORROWED PLUMES Parodies in Prose. 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