Sonnets and lyrics, a little book of verse on the present war

SONNETS AND LYRICS

SONNETS AND LYRICS

A LITTLE BOOK OF VERSE

ON THE PRESENT WAR

BERTRAM DOBELL

Author of

'ROSEMARY AND PANSIES" "A LOVER'S MOODS'
"A CENTURY OF SONNETS " ETC.

LONDON

P. J. & A. E. DOBELL

77 CHARING CROSS ROAD, W.C.

D

1:148122

To S. BRADBURY.

\
DEAR MR. BRADBURY

I have benefited so much from your criticisms upon
these verses, and your suggestions regarding them have
proved so valuable, that I should be ungrateful if I did not
in some way acknowledge my obligations. I have much
pleasure in dedicating these poems to you, not as an
adequate discharge of my indebtedness, but only as a slight
token of my sense of the advantages which they have
derived from your unfailing critical acumen.

Yours faithfully,

BERTRAM DOBELL.

BERTRAM DOBELL

S>te& Sec. 14tb, 1914

Night ! . . . . and the morrow very far !
Pregnant to fate, an epoch in her womb,
Night broods above the world, a pall of doom;

The sands in yonder glass mute symbols are

Of dread events his frail hands threw ajar

A casement to blind skies upon the gloom

No promise shows, the darkness to illume,

Of glimmering in the east or morning star /

Night ! . . . . and the hour before the dawn !
He, with a faith that faltered once, renewed,

Challenged his weariness and strove to keep
His vigil ; to behold, the shadow withdrawn,
Earth welcoming in solemn gratitude

Day ! . . . . and, so waiting, fell on sleep !

S. B.

PRELIMINARY NOTE

TN printing this volume of poems I am fulfilling
the express wish of my father. He conceived
the idea of it very soon after the outbreak of the
war, and at the end of October last put forth the
following announcement :

SINCE the beginning of the present ghastly contest, my
thoughts have been so much occupied with it that I
have scarcely been able to think of anything else. Of
course I am aware that this is the case with many
thousands besides myself — for who can avoid being
disquieted with the thought of the many momentous
issues which depend upon the result of the present
struggle? I mention it in my own case, because many
literary projects which I had in view have had to be
abandoned or postponed in consequence of the anxieties
of the present situation. Age having disqualified me
from taking any active part in the struggle. I have
occupied myself with writing verses upon it. I am well
aware that much verse has already been written upon
the subject, and that much more will hereafter be
written ; but up to the present (so far as I am able to
judge) very little has been produced that is likely to
have anything more than an ephemeral existence.
Possibly my own verses are no better than the rest ;
but however that may be, there can be no harm — so
far as I can see — in printing them. If they have the
stuff of what Rossetti called ''fundamental brain- work"
in them, they will endure ; if not, they will quietly
become what Shakespeare's Ulysses calls ''alms for
oblivion."

xi

This indicates very clearly his view of the work
he was engaged upon. At the time he had
practically completed the Sonnets, and had out-
lined and partially finished the other pieces, but in
the middle of November he was struck down by
the illness which proved fatal. He lingered until
December i4th, unable, during this time, to do any
literary work.

The Lyrics (the word lyrics is used in a general
way as sufficiently descriptive, although, strictly, they
cannot all be classed as lyrics) were left in a less
complete state than the Sonnets, and required some
revision, and the finishing touches which he would
have given them had he recovered. He had already
decided to dedicate the volume to Mr. S. BRADBURY,
and had written the prefixed dedication, acknow-
ledging his indebtedness to him. When my father
realized that he could not hope to complete the
unfinished pieces, he wished Mr. Bradbury to
prepare the volume for the press, revising where
necessary, and completing the few pieces already
outlined but still in a fragmentary state.

I have to thank Mr. Bradbury for willingly
undertaking the task, and for the care with which
xii

he has shaped some rough-hewn pieces into the
finished poems now presented.

It will be conceded, I think, that these poems
well interpret the public feeling of the time; they
are couched in vigorous and forcible language, and
will not be regarded as a negligible contribution to
the literature of the war. He was deeply stirred by
the passing events, and could not do otherwise than
give full expression to his feelings. We have the
outburst of his mind — the full flood of his anger —
against the military despotism which would have
wrecked civilization.

I hope to publish later two volumes which my
father left ready for the press, and which will present
him in another and a gentler frame of mind. These
are the sonnet-sequence, "A Lover's Moods," and
" A Stoic's Philosophy, and other Poems." The
few who have been privileged to read "A Lover's
Moods" consider it represents his highest achieve-
ment in verse, and I feel confident that the issue
of the volume will reveal the fact that he
possessed powers as an idealistic poet not to be
found in any of his hitherto published works.

PERCY J. DOBELL.

ziii

CONTENTS

SONNETS : PAGE

THE SHADOW OF WAR - 3

A JUST CAUSE - - 4

THE DECLARATION OF WAR 5

AN EXHORTATION 6

ENGLAND'S TASK 7

THE NATION'S CALL - 8

THE GREAT TRAGEDY 9

THE DREAM OF TYRANNY - 10

THE TRAGEDY OF A NATION n

To GENERAL LEMAN 12

THE RETREAT FROM MONS 13

To OUR SOLDIERS 14

To THE BELGIANS 15

To FRANCE 16

To RUSSIA 17

THE DESTRUCTION OF LOUVAIN - 18

THE PRUSSIAN ATROCITIES 19

To THE GERMAN PEOPLE - 20

THE MODERN MACHIAVELLIANS 21

"BLOOD AND IRON'' 22

A MOCK BISMARCK 23

GERMANY'S ORACLES 24

To AUSTRIA 25

NEWS OF THE WAR 26

PAGE

SEPTEMBER 1912 - 27

SEPTEMBER, 1914 - 28

A LOST PARADISE 29

MAN THE FRATRICIDE 30

THE BRUTE IN MAN 31

SLEEPLESSNESS - 32

LYRICS :

THE CALL TO ARMS 35

MARCHING SONG - 37

BATTLE SONG - 40

THE KAISER'S ORDER TO HIS TROOPS 42

CONGRATULATIONS TO ATTILA II. - 43

THE KAISER'S GOD 45

THE KAISER : A PEN PICTURE 48

A NEW CAROL - 50

THE PRUSSIAN GOD 53

THE GERMAN PROFESSOR - 56

To HANS BREITMANN 59

"WHATEVER is is RIGHT" 61

"ALL'S RIGHT WITH THE WORLD" - 63

SOLILOQUIES— I. - 65

II. - 66

AN ANTHEM 67

A SONG OF YEARNING ... 69

SONNETS

THE SHADOW OF WAR

Threescore and ten and three more years have I ;
Some joys and many sorrows have I known ;
And now, so near my end, I thought to die

In peace, nor over such vast ruin moan,
Such madness as doth now mankind possess ;

I dreamt not that such vileness on this earth
Could be as now, in naked hideousness,

By foulest passions fostered, springs to birth.
Of man I have ever striven to think the best,

Hoping he would at last his nature free
From the base passions that his soul infest ;

But now that cheering faith is lost to me —
I think I could have welcomed death that I
Might not this world's calamity descry !

A JUST CAUSE

War I regard as Earth's most bitter curse,
The direst of a nation's miseries,
Nor can I think the worst of Hell's is worse :
For it, save these, I know no valid pleas, —
The right of self-defence against foul wrong ;

The freeman's stand against the tyrant's sword ;
The revolt of the oppressed against the strong ;
The keeping of a nation's plighted word.

If ever cause was just, just is our cause,
For now we see with clear and opened eyes

How, trampling on all human rights and laws,
The Prussian hordes the world would tyrannize :

On them will rest this awful weight of guilt,

And all the seas of blood that must be spilt.

THE DECLARATION OF WAR.

The greatest gamble that the world has seen,
With the world's empire for the victor's prize,
Begins ; and War's dread Juggernaut machine

Is ready 'neath its wheels to pulverize
All that adorns and dignifies mankind ;

To stamp out every influence for good ;
And all that's lovely, gracious and refined

To crush into a pulp of mire and blood.
Stripped naked of all vesture of pretence

We see the beast of prey revealed in man ;
The self-same instincts still in evidence

That ruled his actions when the race began.
Nature! are these thy noblest creatures? Then
Sweep from the earth the evil race of men !

AN EXHORTATION

Rise, Britain ! to the level of thy task,
And to that task devote thyself alone,
For all thy strength and courage it doth ask,

And every noble quality thou dost own.
The never-ending strife 'twixt good and ill

Hath reached its culminating hour, and naught
But strenuous effort linked to steadfast will

Can save and serve thee till thy task be wrought.
Let not exultant evil daunt thy spirit,

Nor fear that it is destined to prevail
Against the resolute faith thou dost inherit

From those who knew not what it was to fail :
Evil awhile may triumph, but at last
Into the hell it sprung from shall be cast!

ENGLAND'S TASK

This is a thing we cannot choose but do ;
Straight forward we must go nor once look back ;
Our ancient task we must take up anew,

And in the doing see we be not slack.
We are Lords of Peace, not War; but they who think

The martial spirit of our race is dead
Shall soon before its uproused valour sink

To their just doom, by mad presumption led.
We fight to win — and nothing shall we grudge

Of effort or of cost our end to gain ;
Nor shall we from our dogged purpose budge

One jot until its utmost we attain :
The despot's dupes we pity, and not hate,
For they must share the despot's fall and fate.

THE NATION'S CALL

" These are the times that try men's souls." — THOS. PAINE.
hese are the times that try men's hearts and souls,

T

And sift the cravens from the true men out ;
We call for those alone of courage stout

Whose spirits quicken when the war-drum rolls:

Stand by each weakling and each falterer; let
The men of action, strong and resolute,
Though slow and brief in speech they be, or mute,

Solve unperturbed the problems for them set.

This is, to us, the very hour of fate, —

The time to show we are still the men we were,
No breed degenerate, as our foes aver,

But born for forceful deeds, not idle prate.

No triflers now ; clear brains and hearts of fire
We need to guide, to hearten, to inspire.

THE GREAT TRAGEDY

Is this the fifth act of the great World-Play,
Or but the Prologue to its acts and scenes?
Who knows what the stupendous Drama means,
For whose performance blood and tears must pay?
Is the War- lust in man so deep implanted
That nothing can pluck out its baneful root?
Must the War-drum for ever still the lute?
The Marseillaise of Peace be never chanted?

Say not that War has elements of good,
And cures the ills bred in an age of Peace ;

As well acclaim the burning lava-flood,
And hail its havoc for the earth's increase

Of future richness : what of good there be

Is of the evil but a mockery !

THE DREAM OF TYRANNY

Not with light hearts, nor in a braggart mood,
Do we confront this crisis of our fate ;
Not upon us will rest the guilt of blood ;

We draw the sword in sorrow, not in hate ;
Neither for gain nor glory is it drawn,

But in a cause for which we needs must fight,
Since, should we fail, Earth's darkest day will dawn
Of trampled freedom and tyrannic might.

Could that day dawn Evil would reign supreme
And love and hope and peace exist no more;

But they whose law is brute force do but dream —
Self-dupes and fools whose hour will soon be o'er,

The phantoms of their frenzied minds dispersed,

And Earth no longer by their menace curst!

10

THE TRAGEDY OF A NATION

To see a nation with one thought obsessed, —
The thought of naked and unmoral force,
To be used, a purpose shamelessly confessed,

Without a touch of pity or remorse,
A neighbour's land to ravage and enthral, —

This surely is of tragedies the worst,
Since it doth show that nation's sorry fall
From ideal aims to soullessness accurst.

The sword may conquer, but it cannot hold,
Or hold but for a short and troubled time ;

Europe will not be forced into the mould
Of Teuton " culture " by a Teuton crime :

A grander vision other nations see

Than to be bondmen, Attila, to thee!

11

TO GENERAL LEMAN

THE DEFENDER OF LIEGE

When the full story of this War is told
It will record no nobler name than thine,
Which in the epic narrative will shine
Brightly as Homer's hero-chiefs of old :
Loyal, undaunted, stout of heart — in thee
The true knight-errants' spirit we behold ;
A man of men ; cast in the selfsame mould
As Bayard and our Sidney thou must be!

Before the desperate Huns' o'erwhelming flood
A calm and constant courage thou didst show,
And to the end still answered blow for blow,

And their brute force with force of will withstood :
They to their record add but one more crime —
To thine, renown and honour for all time!

13

THE RETREAT FROM MONS

Retreating still! — but fighting all the time!
Taking their toll in fallen of the foe !
Resisting, with a fortitude sublime,

The host that, like a mighty tide in flow,
Shall, later, ebb as far. Ofttimes is seen

The best in men who face adversity,
Not in success ; oft has the honour been

Their meed who fought yet gained no victory.
And these, who dauntlessly the foe withstood,

Their fame shall grow to a tradition hoary ;
Still shall their courage stir a Briton's blood

While yet a Briton lives to hear the story ;
Nor ever shall a nation's gratitude

Forget the lustre added to her glory!

TO OUR SOLDIERS

Soldiers of Freedom ! Champions of the Right !
True offspring of your dauntless sires of old !
How have you kept our fame and honour bright,

And proved you too are of heroic mould !
Who says now that our nation is effete,

Our Empire but a crumbling house of cards?
The purblind victims of their own conceit

Their error learn — hoist with their own petards !
Not in her battleships, her mighty guns

On sea or land — which are but instruments —
Lies Britain's strength, but in her valiant sons —

Should all else fail her strong and sure defence !
On sea or shore her bulwarks she may place —
Her true shield is the spirit of our race !

TO THE BELGIANS

The old heroic spirit is not dead, —
It lives in you as strongly as of yore :
A little handful of brave souls, ye bore
The shock of hosts which, locust-like, o'erspread
And ravaged your fair land, their chosen course
To strike the quicklier at the heart of France ;
Counting you helpless in their arrogance
Against their treachery and brutal force.
Ye have won the guerdon of immortal fame,

And in the freer Europe yet to be
Your right shall be acknowledged when you claim,

Over your late-exultant enemy,
Prestige and place; and none, for fear or shame,
Shall dare to violate your integrity.

15

TO FRANCE

France ! we are proud to stand beside thee now
In this, for thee and us, the hour of fate ;
Thou shalt not to the insolent Teuton bow

Unless, with thine, he ruin too our state ;
And that can never be, for no such foe —

Proud, even, of his foul and monstrous guile —
Can bring the spirits of our sons so low

That they can grovel to a thing so vile !
Allies we are and shall be to the end ;

In all our aims and policies united ;
Two nations — with a common foe or friend —

Though only by a " scrap of paper " plighted :
Our ages of contention now are past,
And we are one in mind and heart at last.

16

TO RUSSIA

We have been bitter foemen in the past —
Rightly or wrongly now it matters not;
We are united in one cause at last

With all our ancient enmities forgot.
"Uncivilised" 'tis said thou art — but yet

Thy lack of polished mannerisms shows well
Against the German "culture," keen to whet

Its sword that it may make of earth a hell.
Thou bearest within thee many a seed of good

Which shall, when time is ripe, produce fair fruit ;
Not thine the dismal creed of iron and blood,

Nor dost thou join the pedant with the brute :
Faults thou mayest have ; but time shall also show
Thou hast the power thy failings to outgrow.

17

THE DESTRUCTION OF LOUVAIN

Not till this moment did we understand
With what barbaric hordes we had to fight,
Nor could we think Goethe's and Heine's land

Could bring such loathsome creatures to the light.
The fruit of German "culture" we behold

Displayed in lurid hues of blood and flame ;
We see its devotees their creed unfold,

The law of Attila anew proclaim.
Unchivalrous — unmerciful — unsparing —

Without a touch of feeling or remorse,
The execration of all nations daring

To prove themselves apostles of brute force :
The modern Huns they have shown themselves indeed.
The worst and foulest of the evil breed !

18

THE PRUSSIAN ATROCITIES

They are not men who do such shameful deeds,
But bestial creatures in the shape of men ;
One land alone this mongrel progeny breeds —

Kin to the tribes that herd in cave and den.
Prussians ! your own foul acts condemn your cause,
, And herald the abasement of your pride ;
For they who spurn all kindly human laws

Must the wild justice of revenge abide :
The merciless no mercy shall receive ;

The murderer must meet the murderer's fate;
No human soul will for your sufferings grieve,

And none lament the ruin of your state ;
For they who war against humanity
Must look for justice, not for clemency.

19

TO THE GERMAN PEOPLE

Rivals we knew you in the arts of peace,
And sometimes feared your ordered industry,
Which threatened to destroy our ancient lease

Of world-wide commerce threading every sea ;
Yet we desired to be your friend, not foe,

And whilst you grew in wealth and power apace,
Menace nor warning heeded, and were slow

To deem your enmity so deep and base.
But clearly now unmasked, we see your plan

To strike a treacherous blow against our state —
Mad fools ! the feud is none that we began,

But confident the issue we await ;
No wile of yours can lay an Empire low
That worthier foes have failed to overthrow.

THE MODERN MACHIAVELLIANS

Prussians! we know you now for what you are,
The would-be Machiavellians of to-day,
Though still your clumsy artifices mar

Your projects, and your shallow plots betray;
Your land a land of plunderers has been

Since Frederick, your great freebooter's, time,
And still you wait, with vision vulture-keen,

Each chance to profit by some treacherous crime ;
Ever you stand upon the watch to strike

A blow against your neighbours unprepared,
Yet wonder why your state-craft they dislike,

And are not by its webs to be ensnared;
But they who rule by Might and threaten all
Beneath the mightier force of Right shall fall !

"BLOOD AND IRON"

He made, they said, a nation : so ! and now
We see the fruit of that ill-omened deed ;
Her trusted spokesmen openly avow

The filibuster's gospel as their creed :
Justice and Right they scoff at : Might alone —

Might in its harshest and most barbarous mould —
As spirit and symbol of her rule they own,
Even as the fierce barbarians of old.

Since in the sword alone she doth confide,
Naught caring for the justice of her cause,

Mercy to her shall be a boon denied,
As she denies it by her ruthless laws,

When at the world's tribunal shall appear

The nation that he made, her doom to hear

22

A MOCK BISMARCK

We loved him not, but never could despise
The man of blood and iron, whose great task
Accomplished, for its permanence did ask
One, like himself, satanically wise:
But seldom doth it chance that such a man
Leaves a successor that can fill his place
With equal greatness ; even so now the case :
Here is no Kaiser of the Bismarck clan.

A flighty, frothy creature, only great

In his colossal vanity and pride

Is he ; a marplot, ever occupied
In playing puppet at the hands of fate:

Save us, ye gods ! from Bismarcks, great or small —

But save us from Mock-Bismarcks most of all?

GERMANY'S ORACLES

Nietzsche and Treitschke ! unmelodious names !
Henceforward names of evil omen too !
Teachers whose doctrines, taught with different aims,

Mankind must, for their consequences, rue! —
Tis hard that he, who flouted and abhorred

The soulless and mechanic German race,
Should even some shadow of excuse afford

For the foul actions that their arms disgrace;
But Treitschke ! — and Bernhardi ! — these, I trow,

Fill all, save Turk and Teuton, with disgust;
Extol brute force, and shamelessly avow

That naught expedient is to them unjust:
With such blind guides a nation needs must fall
Beneath the tyrant's heel, become his thrall.

24

TO AUSTRIA

Austria! thou art now, but wilt be no more
When this great clash of force with right is ended ;
Thy reign of evil dominance is o'er,

And thou shalt sink, dishonoured and unfriended.
A host of portents herald thy sure fall,

Too long delayed, too long to justice due ;
Vainly for help on Prussia wilt thou call,

And nowhere else for succour canst thou sue.
A long, long reign of infamy was thine,

And thou wert spared a hundred times by fate
Whose long-exhausted patience doth consign

Thee, Austria! to thy fitting low estate.
Her patient tarrying may long endure,
But in the end the blow falls swift and sure.

26

NEWS OF THE WAR

Day after day the same unvarying news :
"The battle of the millions still progresses,

With alternating set-backs and successes,
And o'er two hundred miles its course pursues — "
We read between the lines : day after day
Death blithely gathers in his monstrous toll
Of lives, even though so vast the garnered whole
He scarce knows where to store his ghastly prey;
Rapine and Lust, in mad and mocking glee,
Gloat o'er the nameless havoc they have wrought ;
Wanton Destruction in her train hath brought
Famine, disease, and hopeless misery —
"Position satisfactory; outlook good
Upon the whole " : the official platitude !

SEPTEMBER, 1912

Ah, what a calm and blissful mood is mine!
In what unshadowed peace my soul doth rest !
Within, without, all seems alike divine,

And nothing I behold that is not blest :
The fresh cool air breathes health in every breath,

Even as might a cheerful morn of May;
Gone is all thought of pain, all fear of death ;

If ill exist, at least 'tis far away.
Serenely now my life's sad course I view,

And even that grief which seemed to overthrow
All happiness, and bade all hope adieu,

Has grown a dim sweet dream of long ago :
Life's colours their discordant hues transcend,
And into one harmonious pattern blend.

Hadley Woods, Sept. JjtA, 1912.

SEPTEMBER, 1914

As lovely is the day as it was then ;
All nature with itself at peace doth rest ;
No evil omen is within my ken,

And now, as then, all earth and sky seem blest
Yet, ah ! how strangely different my mood !

What boding fears my anxious mind possess !
With what deep pain and sorrow do I brood

Upon the scenes of horror and distress
That over Europe's fairest lands extend,

Making it seem the ante-room of Hell!
How will the monstrous tragic drama end?

Will ever peace again with mortals dwell?
Scarce more of hate and discord could there be
If Satan upon earth held jubilee !

Hadley Woods, Sept. sfth, 1914.

A LOST PARADISE

Ah ! how unlovely has the world become !
That world which was, although we knew it not,
A Paradise where 'twas our happy lot
To dwell, is now a Pandemonium !
How has the life that glided smoothly on
By a great tempest suddenly been hurled
Upon the rocks, or from its moorings whirled,
And all that gave it worth or sweetness gone!

By what demoniac influence has mankind

Been plunged into this vast insanity,

This welter of murderous hate and savagery
That hath air, earth and sea incarnadined?

A Paradise lost ! — made desolate and profaned !

When will it be a Paradise regained?

MAN THE FRATRICIDE

Old, weary, mournful, only half-alive, —
Perplexed with fears, by gloomy thoughts
I sit here in my loneliness and strive [depressed,

To find some solace for my mind's unrest :
Why did I live to see this overthrow

Of all that sweetens and ennobles life ?
Had I not known enough of pain and woe

To escape the vision of this hellish strife?
Anguished I see the hounds of hell let loose,

And man hunt man through water, earth and air,
And every nobler faculty misuse

To prove himself Cain's unregenerate heir :
Man is far worse than any beast of prey ;
He kills from wantonness, from hunger they !

THE BRUTE IN MAN

Man is a fighting animal, 'tis said,
And war an instinct planted in his soul ;
Cupidity and lust in him are bred,

And passion that can never brook control :
But is he so irrational a thing?

So mere a brute, so void of sense and thought?
Then, Nature ! to an end his story bring,

And let no trace remain of all he wrought!
Let the brute meet the fortune of the brute,

And perish by the hunter's vengeful hand,
If man must still in man seek his pursuit

And prey, and glory in the murderer's brand :
Who knows not how his passions to control
Is brute in nature — with a devil's soul !

SLEEPLESSNESS

Wilt thou not leave awhile, tyrannic Thought,
My brain, and let it from its turmoil rest?
Thou knowest well 'tis outworn and oppressed
With sadness and with anxious fears o'erfraught.
How strange that when the mind, too sorely tried,
Is wearied most, the blessed balm of sleep
So tardily comes, and that oblivion deep
Which most is craved the longer is denied !
No punishment were more unmerciful
Than that which doth sleep's healing power suspend,
For constant thought means madness in the end :
The boon of sleep makes life endurable.
Then let me sleep or die — for life's a curse
That hath not slumber for its faithful nurse!

32

LYRICS

THE CALL TO ARMS

Britons, bring to mind the story
Of our island's ancient glory —

You are called to arms once more!
Gather to defend your nation
From disgrace and desolation

As your fathers did of yore !

Glorious memories we inherit
Soul and courage to inspirit

As we march to meet the foe ;
We for right and freedom battle —
Not like witless herded cattle

But as freeborn men we go!

Freedom is our native charter,
One that we will never barter

For a soulless tyranny!
With our blood we will defend it ;
Freely, gladly shall we spend it,

For we must, we will be free!

35

Staunch and resolute and steady,
For all sacrifices ready,

Fearless, we shall stand our ground ;
Grim our task, but we will never
Falter till our great endeavour

Be with glorious victory crowned !

MARCHING SONG

We have girded on our arms once more for
Liberty's dear sake,
And of the Prussian feudal lords have sworn the

power to break ;

They thought that we were sleeping, but they found
we were awake

And ready for the fray!

The battle-spirit in our hearts is potent as of yore ;
It thrills through every Briton's veins alike on sea or

shore :
We greet again with sombre joy the cannon's sullen

roar,

Whose summons we obey.

Fondly we hoped the time had come for war's wild

work to cease;
We sought to live with all mankind in amity and

peace,
And dreamt not that a despot's whim, his vain and

mad caprice —

A world in blood would steep!

37

The gauntlet we must needs take up — we cannot

stand aside,
And let the blatant Prussian beast roughshod o'er

Europe ride ;
To keep his plighted word to all is still a Briton's

pride,

And ours we mean to keep !

Free men are we and so obey Freedom's supreme

behest ;
Our cause is justr our courage high, our captains of

the best;
Already have our hearts been tried and we have stood

the test,

Nor did, nor shall we, quake;
But let each coward stay behind— we want no cravens

here;
We would not have within our ranks even one poor

slave of fear;
None who dares not to do or die, give what he

holds most dear

Freely for honour's sake!

86

Fierce as the Huns of old our foes ; they ravage and

destroy,
And mark their course by deeds of shame that fiends

alone enjoy ;
They deem that justice is a word, a treaty but a toy ;

Their laws are brigands' laws ;
And till the menace of their rage and brutal force

be o'er
We stand the brunt, nor shall we to its place our

swo^d restore
Until we feel that from its sheath that sword need

nevermore

Be drawn for such a cause.

Great is the price of victory, but we that price will

pay;
Far is the goal that we must gain, and steep and hard

the way;
He is a traitor to our cause who urgeth us to stay,

Or, starting, faltereth ;
Never was there a holier cause than that for which

we fight;

Never the crown of victory so gloriously bright ;
Never were death so fine as death in battling for the

the right —

Then Victory— or Death!

39

BATTLE SONG

Forward, comrades, to the fight!
We are battling for the right;
Firm our faith, our weapons bright;
On to victory!

Feudal tyranny's the foe

We have sworn to overthrow :

Deal it, then, a mortal blow;

Set the nations free !

France, elate in martial pride,
Battles bravely by our side,
Brothers in arms, whate'er betide,

For all time to come!

Kaiser-ridden Germany!

We will set your millions free

From a vile autocracy,

Proud and burdensome !

40

'Neath the War-Fiend's evil power —
Ogre that doth all devour —
Europe shall no longer cower:

We will strike it down!

Britain's flag shall never wave
O'er the coward or the slave :
Tis the standard of the brave

Victory yet shall crown !

41

THE KAISER'S ORDER TO HIS TROOPS
(BOXER EXPEDITION, JULY 2;TH, 1900)

Crush the foe whene'er you meet him ;
With shot, shell, and bayonet greet him ;
Take no prisoners, give no quarter,
Women, children, old men slaughter ;
Hold no parley save with guns ;
Prove yourselves the modern Huns ;
Hack your way where'er you go ;
Cause the maximum of woe ;
Let your hearts be hearts of stone,
Clemency a thing unknown.

Burn the shrines of such vile races ;
Desecrate their holy places ;
They profess a creed untrue,
Pagans they and Christians you —
Therefore they are better dead ;
So, the gospel truths to spread
And to do my will, spare none ;
Then, since both these aims are one,
Whatsoever you may do
Our old God will see you through!

42

CONGRATULATIONS TO ATTILA II.

Our congratulations ! — a little o'erdue,
Like other things we, though unwilling, to you
Are still owing — and, first, on the marvellous way
In which you've embroiled all the nations to-day ;
On your subtle diplomacy's wondrous success
In getting you into a deuce of a mess ;
And the craft of your scheme for unloosing the devil
Which exists in mankind in all evil to revel.

We acknowledge your grasp of the true use of might,
And your brutal contempt for all honour and right ;
Of the ruin your visions of conquest have wrought
On your neighbours, and also the suffering you've brought
On your subjects, too dull, or in spirit too poor
To do aught save still your misrule to endure.

Nor must we forget the great victories you've gained
O'er the brave Belgian troops you so highly disdained,
Which allowed you to harry and ravage their land
And make on its people your brigand's demand ;
Nor the skill of your Zeppelins, at murder so clever,
Killing children and women, but combatants never!

43

Nor should we omit to recall your capacity
In getting your God to condone your rapacity ;
And your vile, canting custom of using His name
As if His will and your will were one and the same.

And lastly, we thank you for laying aside

The mask worn so long your ambitions to hide ;

Your cunning, your plots, are less darkly concealed,

Your methods and policy now are revealed ;

No longer the world to your mission is blind —

You stand forth confessed as the scourge of mankind !

44

THE KAISER'S GOD

The Kaiser has a special God —
A God he patronises
And, day by day, by wireless (made
In Germany) advises.

He never dreamt his God might not
Approve of all that he did,

Or take a different view from him
Of what was right and needed.

His "good old God" he was until

His luck began to alter,
But in His special goodness now

His faith begins to falter.

Since he relied, in all he did,

On God as his assistant,
It now seems strange that his ally

Towards him should be so distant.

Within three weeks he set his heart
On marching into Paris ;

His army, dwindling by degrees,
A long way from it tarries !

He cannot understand why God

Has turned his back on Prussia,

And now bestows his favours on
That barbarous nation, Russia!

Note, too, those infidels, the French,
Who scoff at all devotion,

And have not in their flighty minds
A single pious notion.

Yet these vile sinners are allowed,
In most surprising manner,

To check his own God-fearing troops,
And flout his Christian banner!

A whole life-time he served his God,
Who never failed to aid him

Till now, when he appears resolved
To injure and degrade him.

His schemes have failed, his plans gone wrong,

His luck is most provoking ;
It seems as if his " good old God "

Were with the Kaiser joking.

But who would care to own a God

Who looks so lightly on him,
And when he most requires his aid

Just turns his back upon him ?

Poor Kaiser! Take a lesson from

The heathen in his blindness,
Who, if his god thus fickle prove,

Repays him with unkindness.

And should this pointed treatment fail

To prove his god a true one,
He smashes up his deity,

And goes and gets a new one !

I

THE KAISER: A PEN-PICTURE

n shining uniform, tricked out with gold,
The Emperor, self-appraised and real, behold !

With world-stage strut, with conscious grandeur filled,

Brooking no question, haughty and self-willed,

A being to distortion magnified

Is he; in his invulnerable pride

A demi-god he doth himself conceive,

And not a dog must bark without his leave!

An egotist, he thinks his crony, God,

Over the world would have him ride rough-shod ;

Head of the Church, the Army, and the State,

Nothing his lust for wider rule can sate ;

Too small, by far, is Germany to confine

His grand ambition, which would still repine

If Europe at his feet lay prostrate; he

O'er the whole earth would wield supremacy!

A vain, unreasoning, impulse-driven elf,
A new Napoleon he believes himself;

48

With talents scarcely fit to keep a school
The solar system he'd engage to rule,
And with so light a task would still contrive
To be the busiest, fussiest fool alive —
Preacher, musician, painter, poetaster,
Of all the arts and every science master,
A charlatan in all acclaimed degrees,
Statesman pour rire —

And Mephistopheles ;

Superman and degenerate, — who with cant
Will gloss the basest turpitude, and rant
To an octave-height of blasphemy, proclaim
The Almighty as a partner in his shame,
And vow to achieve, with Heaven's will and grace,
The master-crime against the human race!

Of all mad criminals the chief, the worst,
Behold— the Emperor, William the Accurst!

49

A NEW CAROL

FOR THE USE OF THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS OF THE KAISER

God save you, merry gentlemen 1
List to our roundelay,
And call to mind our Saviour's birth
In Bethlehem far away:

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

Twas nineteen centuries ago

And fourteen years to-day;
And now for Christ His sake we come

To pillage, burn and slay:

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

They say that He was meek and mild,

And harmless as a dove ;
But fierce as tigers starved are we,

And naught but carnage love:

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

50

Goodwill and peace He brought to men —
Or so His priests have said —

But goodwill now has left the earth,
And peace lies stark and dead :

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

His followers have His doctrines preached

In every age and clime,
And so do we — with fire and sword

And many a flagrant crime:

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

The Prince of Peace they named Him once

In mockery and scorn,
For not to bring peace on the earth

But warfare was He born :

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

Tis said He gave His blood to save

Mankind from mortal doom ;
But 'tis our purpose now to send

A million to the tomb:

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

51

Our Kaiser is a godly man,

And full of holy zeal ;
He never fights till he hath made

To God a strong appeal :

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

For the godless French his pious soul

Doth much compassion feel,
So them he goeth to convert

With shot and shell and steel :

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

God save you, merry gentlemen,

And be no wit dismayed,
For every crime to mankind known

Shall mark the New Crusade!

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

THE PRUSSIAN GOD

Our dear Prussian friends with a logic quite odd,
Have set up a new-fangled sort of a God,
Whom, far more sincerely than Christ, they adore,
Or the good-natured deities worshipped of yore:
He's the patron of Junkers, Mailed-Fists and Hussars ;
In short, he's a new incarnation of Mars;
His apostle's Bernhardi, a fire-eater bold,
Who as vassals to Prussia all nations would hold.

Bernhardi! Bernhardi!

Your plans are all right
If God sees you through

To the end of the fight ;
But if He lets you down —

And 'tis likely He may —
Bernhardi! you'll find

There's the devil to pay !

53

His true name is Force — Force sans conscience or truth,
With no bowels of kindness or mercy or ruth ;
He's a God of Destruction, of rapine and greed,
Who cares not how mortals may suffer or bleed ;
Who for honour and justice has nothing but scorn ;
By whom solemn treaties are shamelessly torn
To waste-paper; whose gospel is carnage and fire
And trampling humanity into the mire!

Bernhardi ! Bernhardi !

Your plans are all right
If your Gods arm keeps strong

To the end of the fight ;
But if He should fail you>

Then think of the dayt
Bernhardi, when you'll have

The devil to pay !

64

But their God is not new — he's the oldest of all

That ever set out to lay waste and enthral ;

The God of oppression, of pillage and rape,

Part tiger, part venomous serpent, part ape:

This Superman's God, to whom men are but flies,

Is only a re-christened Father of Lies ;

No God, but a devil of devilish might,

Whom every true man has no choice but to fight.

Bernhardi! Bernhardi!

Your plans were all right
If God saw you through

To the end of the fight;
But when God lets you down,

And your schemes go astray,
Bernhardi! there'll then be

The devil to pay !

THE GERMAN PROFESSOR

A German Professor —
The mildest of men —
Sat scribbling all day
In a dull stuffy den.

A patriot — huge tankards
Of beer he would drink,

As he shed for his country
His last drop of ink.

But in spite of his rank,
And his learned degree,

No man to his master
Was humbler than he.

Yet this spectacled pedagogue,

Fusty and bland,
Could out- Herod Herod

A pen in his hand.

He conclusively proved
That the great German race

In battle-array
Could the Universe face.

All his faith was in force —
As for conscience or law,

Other nations were welcome
To hold them in awe.

But the Superman's state
Need no treaties respect,

And all scruples of honour
Must promptly reject.

And justice and right

Should be likewise disdained,
With a purpose to serve

And an end to be gained.

To attain it go boldly

And — hack your way through ;
Let those who oppose you

Their insolence rue.

57

Make "frightful examples"

Wherever you go,
And shed blood as freely

As water can flow.

Burn, ravish, and murder —

No pity display ;
The greater your glory

The more you can slay.

The buccaneers' ethics

Your ethics must be;
Necessity always

Will serve for your plea.

In short, this mild teacher
Who reasoned so well,

Would make the world German-
Or make it a Hell!

58

TO HANS BREITMANN

We bore with you, till you began
The Lion's tail to tweak, Hans ;
Even now your clumsy grasp we can
Forgive — but not your cheek, Hans!

You covet, somewhere in the sun,
A place whereon to squat, Hans ;

Right! — but in those that we have won
You'll find it much too hot, Hans!

Big colonies — for dumping there

Your millions overflowing —
You want; but we have none to spare —

Our people, too, are growing.

You also want a first-class fleet,
Some nation to subdue, Hans ;

Well, that's a challenge we must meet,
And try a fall with you, Hans!

Our sea-dominion we shall hold

Against whate'er attack it,
Even though it be your navy bold,

With all your craft to back it!

The Empire our forefathers gained
At cost of blood and treasure,

Shall, at the same price, be maintained,
Nor yielded at your pleasure.

So, Hans, we hate you not, but yet
In arms we needs must meet you,

And, if you like, we'll make a bet
That ten to one we beat you!

"WHATEVER IS IS RIGHT"

Prussia's mad monarch, boastful of his might,
Has with the war-torch set the earth alight.
And sent his legions forth to spoil and slay.
And hack through harried lands their blood-stained way,
With fury blind, defiling and destroying,
And every deed of foul offence enjoying —

But why should acts like these our souls affright,
Since Faith asserts : " Whatever is is right ? "

His horde of bullies treat, where'er they go,
Even the simple peasant as a foe ;
Strip him of all he has, and leave him naught
Save eyes to weep with and a mind distraught ;
Dishonour wife and maid ; slay ruthlessly
The grandam and the babe upon her knee —

What then ? Of such things we should calmly write,
Since Faith asserts : " Whatever is is right."

In wicked wantonness, with rage insane,
Rheims they have made a ruin, and Louvain ;
Destroyed their noble monuments of old,
Rich above mines of diamonds and gold —
Yet should not we, like Prussia's ribald hordes,
Her Junkers, Pedants, and her warrior Lords,
Should not we, too, in deeds like these delight,
Since Faith asserts: "Whatever is is right?"

"ALL'S RIGHT WITH THE WORLD"

The Kaiser made war
While his moustache he twirled :
God's in his heaven —

All's right with the world!

The banner of blood

And of rapine's unfurled:

God's in his heaven —

All's right with the world!

In the seas mines are sown

And red ruin upswirled :
God's in his heaven —

All's right with the world!

From navies above

Are new thunderbolts hurled :
God's in his heaven —

All's right with the world!

63

Vast hosts on the land

To destruction are whirled :
God's in his heaven —

All's right with the world!

The devil in man

Is uproused and uncurled:
If God's in his heaven

Why this hell in the world?

D

TWO SOLILOQUIES

I.

o not the vile iniquities of men

Corrode your brain and lacerate your heart?"
So asked a great but melancholy man,
The self-tormenting, misanthropic Swift.

If he were here now would he not repeat
His question with redoubled emphasis?
For who — unless endowed with nerves of steel,
And soul that never knew a touch of pity,
In this most monstrous crisis of the world,
When every awful engine of destruction
Man uses to destroy his fellow-man,
Gloating upon the ruin he creates —
Feels not as once the great sad genius felt?

Talk not again of Satan, or of Hell :
Men ever have created their own hells,
And fiends of human breed have made the world,
As one has made it now, a new Inferno!

65

II.

Ah, what a mad and wicked world is this !

What savages are all men in their hearts !

What evil passions in the noblest dwell !

What want of wisdom do the wisest show,

And how inhuman is humanity!

How crueller than beasts of prey are men,

And more unpitying than a lava-flood !

What names — mere names — are Honour, Virtue, Faith;

Having no power to rule the acts of men,

And serving only to deceive the simple !

Were there a God, would He not sweep away
With one swift gesture all the human race,
Blot out men's shameful record, and resolve
The world into the Chaos whence it came ?
Surely this earth must be the Hell whereto
All the vile creatures of the Universe
Are sent to expiate their evil deeds !

H

AN ANTHEM

ow long, how long will this great horror last?
When will this nightmare agony be past?

How long must we this barbarous strife endure,
And to inhuman deeds our souls inure ?

What harvest yet has grinning Death to gain ?
What hosts of victims must there still be slain ?

When will the world a shambles cease to be,
And men recover from their lunacy ?

When will this carnival of crime be o'er,
And men grow sane and merciful once more ?

Must we our savage parentage still own ?
Have we not yet the ancestral brute outgrown ?

Must we, like very beasts of prey, still fight,
And in the death of our own kind delight ?

67

When will the seas spawn wanton death no more,
The heavens their infernal havoc cease to pour?

Is all our boasted progress but a dream?
Must evil reign as in the past supreme?

Oh, let there be some opening in the clouds!
Let some star cleave the darkness that enshrouds !

Restore our faith in man, our hopes of good,
And knit the riven ties of brotherhood !

Faint are our hopes, heavy our hearts and sad —
Ah, never as before can we be glad !

Yet will we trust this conflict be the last,
And Peace will reign for aye when it is past !

Still for a world made better will we strive,
And from our hopelessness shall hope revive !

A SONG OF YEARNING.

Our eyes are dim with watching for the dawning of
the day,
That day so long in coming when our woes shall melt

away ;
Oh ! shall we never of that dawn perceive the first faint

ray ?

Are all our yearnings vain ?

Shall the world be ruled for ever by sophistries and lies?
Shall the money-lords for ever filch lean industry's fair

prize ?

Shall kings and priests for ever o'er the nations tyrannise?
Shall wrong for ever reign?

Must warring interests evermore humanity divide ?
Shall unjust might as in the past defenceless right

o'erride ?
Have all in vain our heroes fought, in vain our martyrs

died?

Is ours a hopeless quest?

Oh, never, never will we think that all our hopes are vain ;
Never believe that man was made for naught but care

and pain ;

Firm is our faith, we shall at last a Golden Age attain
Whose every dawn is blest !

Ah, yes ! a day is coming with blessings in its train,
When no man to his brother man shall act the part of

Cain,
When none shall seek from others' loss unhallowed

wealth to gain,

And right shall reign supreme !

Then no man's interest apart from that of all shall be ;
Nations no more in battle-shock shall meet on land or

sea;

And universal Love shall make mankind one family :
Ah ! is it but a dream ?

70

Oh, what a thrill of love and joy would glad our wearied

hearts
Could we but live to see the day when ancient wrong

departs,
When man with man shall strive no more, save in the

peaceful arts,

And none shall be oppressed !

For time will end the rule of wrong, and peace and right

shall reign,
And man, grown wise, shall nevermore the fiends of war

unchain ;
Our dreams shall be fulfilled, and earth the Golden Age

attain,

And every dawn be blest!

[The above poem is reprinted (with some alterations and additions)
from my volume of poems, entitled, ROSEMARY AND PANSIES.
I have printed it here because it seemed best to end on a
somewhat less sombre note than that which characterises most
of the foregoing poems. But I must confess — though I do it
very reluctantly — that the coming of the better day, which at
the beginning of the present century I had some little faith in,
now seems to me to be a great deal further off than it did then.]

71

D Dobell, Bertram,
526 1842-1914

• 2 Sonnets and lyrics,
Do a little book of verse
on the present war.

P. J. and A, E.
Dcbell (1915)

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