1
!
"FOR REMEMBRANCE."
(By the blood that our Brothers have bartered for the crosses that mark where they sleep By the bones of the drowned Lusitania that rot in the case of the deep
By the toll of the grim "Jolly Roger "-alack! and the end is not yet—
By the Terror that slew the Heavens we swear that we will not forget!)
In the Dawning of Evil Beginnings (the better to play him a part)
He came as a friend to our Country (the better to strike at her heart)
When he bawled "Du, Du, liegst mir im Herzen" and Britain smiled back at the Hun, Nor dreamed be was aching to blow her a kiss from the mouth of ■ Gun!
O Day of our Midsummer madness-a day that already is dim,
When the Meteor rocked in the Solent, and Hatred had never a Hyme,
When the Kaiser was cheered by the people-vouchsafed the most gracious of boons- (And made his respected Grand-parent & Colonel of Prussian Dragoons!)
At the word of the sly Wilhelm-strasse, the Spy had been sent to our Land,
To don him the cloak of the Briton, and proffer a treacherous hand,
The baker, the barber, the waiter, the men who were known in Finance,
(And honour us still with their presence) were lying in wait for their chance.
When the storm brooded over the Nations that slumbered nor recked of "The Day” Unheeding the sign in the Heavens-the warning to gird for the fray-
(And ever the olang of the hammer, and ever the glare in the night, Where the workers were sweating at Essen to compass our fall in the Fight).
O mischievous band of fanatics that heckle, and blather, and grouse,
That whimper like peevish old women to shouts of "Sit down" in the House, That bid as be kind to the Teuton, nay, masters, have never a doubt, We'll attend to the gentleman's feelings when Tommy has Hattoned him out.
And you of the anserine scribble, that clamour and rackle for Peace,
Pray the Gods to accord you the prescience that marked the Capitoline geese, Would you have us compound with the Felon 3-Would you atab with the quill of your kind The lads in the mud of the trenches 1–0 you who are wilfully blind!
Shall we stretch forth the hand of forgiveness —the hand that was bit to the bone, While the Brute is yet loose and unmuzzled, and ramping the Earth he would own. What hope of the Peace that we sigh for till Europe is breathing again ? Till the Hellhound is back in his kennel, and safe at the end of a chain !
(lly the Land that was ravaged and looted-laid waste in "Necessity's" name—--
By the Captives insulted and spat on-◊ Wittenberg, great is thy fame!-
By the score that is steadily mounting the Devil may chalk up the debt-
Bu it paid to the uttermost farthing, we awear that we will not forget!}
M. Glyn-Stewart, in the Globe.
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48.