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Read Ebook: Sangre y arena by Blasco Ib Ez Vicente
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Ebook has 1764 lines and 110560 words, and 36 pages
THE BELGIAN MOTHER
AND
BALLADS OF BATTLE TIME
SECOND EDITION
Dedicated to
The Great War Veterans living, and dead, by whose exalted patriotism and heroic sacrifice in war the British Empire was preserved
CANADA
TO THE VETERANS OF THE GREAT WAR
As gallant knights, as valiant-souled crusaders, You come from quests of peril o'er the sea; From conflicts stern, against the brute invaders, With laurels nobly won, you come to me.
In contest grim, the mightiest of the ages, My banner through the carnage you have borne; Your names are written large on Glory's pages, I greet you, gallant soldiers, battle-worn.
Through all the years to be, I shall remember The deeds you wrought, since first you sailed away; Since flaming down through Belgium, that September, The Prussian hell-hounds, baying, sought Calais.
There Ypres and St. Julien, shining glorious, Red Courcelette and Vimy's Ridge aglow, And many another unsung fight, victorious, Wherein you clove a pathway through the foe.
You have returned with memories unfading, Of prodigies performed in Freedom's name, Of charging hosts and volley's enfilading, And roaring craters curtained with death's flame.
Some come not back; in lands afar they're sleeping. Who dies for Freedom fills no nameless grave; Their memory enshrined all hearts are keeping, So sleep remembered, all the gallant brave.
Yours is the place of honour in the nation; Who dares for Right the highest shall command; Who pours for Liberty his heart's libation Shall win the grateful tribute of my land.
Contents
The Belgian Mother The Burial of King Edward, The Peacemaker The Coronation of King George V The Greater Canada The Battle Call Give! Give! Give! The Battle of Langemarck "Somewhere in France" Lines to Greece Ireland Kismet The Crimson Year, Christmas, 1916 Grit and Tory "De Fightin' Fisherman" Monsieur Poilu "The Bells of Belgium" Lad of My Heart When Drinking to Erin Duty "A Wartime Greeting" The Aviators Hell's Acolyte Copper Johnny The Quest Eternal The Building of the Chateau The Spirit of Christmas The Chosen People The Waif A Toast Ballad of the Budget, Year 1909 "The Pipe" The Miracle of May In Summer Love's Miracle The Squaw-Man Heart's Desire The Awakening Eyes of the Heart Cupid's Arrow My April Maiden The Call of the Open The Loving Cup
THE BELGIAN MOTHER
THE BELGIAN MOTHER
Hear me, O God, who reignest upon high, From blood-bespattered fields hear thou my cry! Hear Thou a Belgian mother's fierce appeal, Whose torn bosom, 'neath the Prussian heel, Crimson and breastless challenges Thy sky, Of Christ the merciful demanding why. Wherefore the murder of my valiant sons! Wherefore the ravage of my little ones? Hear me, O Father; Jesus, hear me pray, Shall there be reckoning, shall Prussia pay?
For sack of cities, sacrilege of shrines, For trampled tombs, a thousand nameless crimes, That cry for vengeance unto Heaven's throne, Shall he not pay, shall Prussia not atone? The dying hands of children grip my heart; From vale and upland, and the thronging mart, There is no laughter where they used to play; They cry unmothered, starved, with faces gray. If this be not a hell 'neath devil's sway, For all my little ones, shall Prussia pay!
O God of mine, Thy harvest moon still beams, Nor hides in horror from such ghastly scenes, And Thy great Sun I thought Thy hand might shade, And dim the light that gave such carnage aid. Red ravage rides across my piteous plain, Behold Namur, behold beloved Louvain! Temples of Wisdom, prostrate in the dust, Trampled and scarred to glut a despot's lust. Hast Thou no rod this crowned Ghoul to flay? For ruin of Beauty, Lord, shall Prussia pay!
Out from the land that loved them, beggared flung, Sons from the loins of olden heroes sprung; They whom great Caesar chronicled in praise, Shalt Thou leave outcast, doom to evil days?
Shall Belgium's sons, shall this beloved soil, Whose very mould is martial, be made spoil? Lord of the slain in olden battles, hear! Till all I love, till all I hold most dear, Till my young hero-king shall find his throne, Till Belgians shall again sing songs of home, I from amid the ruins, night and day, Shall cry to Thee, "O God, make Prussia pay!"
THE BURIAL OF KING EDWARD, THE PEACE-MAKER
All day the league long lines have onward marched; Mourn the sad millions round the silent bier, Where rests beneath the temple, nobly arched, The form a worldwide people held most dear.
The sombre pageant darkens all the land. The seven Kings in mournful grandeur ride, Kings of the earth must bow to death's command; Happy the Prince who heeds nor builds on pride!
Happy the land, that in such mournful hour Can through the tears of parting proudly say, As we, he wrought each instrument of power For good, and o'er his people's hearts held sway.
Shaping his efforts ever toward this end, That e'en the alien learned to bless his name, Healing the wounds red war had made, a friend To arts of peace, that is his crowning fame.
Peacemaker, rest among thy kingly sires; Peace was thy shrine, and never war's array, Nor glories reared on force were thy desires; Thy strength was given to shield, and not to slay.
Dead King, thy noblest triumph here is made. Who claims such tribute from a mighty state Reigns on; a sceptred king, though in death laid, And dying lives, beloved, immortal, great.
May, 1911.
THE CORONATION OF KING GEORGE V
AN ODE OF EMPIRE
Summer with the sun conspiring spreads her tapestry of June, Flora, all her glories flaunting, floors thy pathway flower-strewn, Hedge and field and rose-crowned wayside blush in beauty all aflame, While around thee, radiant ranging, millions give thee Sire, acclaim.
Strike O Bard! thy proudest Paen, singing with a soul on fire; Paint, O Master of the canvas! all that grandeur may inspire; But thy soaring inspirations broken-winged shall flutter down, Swooning in the purpling glory lighting this an Empire's crown.
Proudly moves the purple pageant over mighty London's pave, Rank on rank of gorgeous colour, stately moving wave on wave, Rank on rank the massing millions roar a welcome that upsoars Like the ocean billows breaking stormy round thy Island shores.
Festooned arches, brilliant bunting, scarlet seas white-capped with plumes, Tossing, surging, rythmic swaying to melodious marching tunes, King and prince and jewelled marquis, ermine robe and silken hose, Sweeping stately, thousand bannered, on and on the pageant goes.
Onward to the culmination of the long day's fevered strain, To the happy culmination with its hope of joyful reign, To the solemn coronation 'neath Westminster's wondrous pile, Treasure house of Britain's glory, loveliest heirloom of her Isle.
Sepulchre sublime and mossy; Brooder old what dreams are thine, Thou who blessed our monarch's forebears since the great Confessor's time, Thou who holds the dust of princes in thy motherly embrace, Who serene through years of tumult watched upgrow a mighty race.
From thy walls, oh Temple olden, thou hast watched the long years through. Seen the forest fastness broken, seen thy sons the seas subdue, Seen the Saxon hosts embattled to the conquering Norman yield, And the hunchback king remorseless die on Bosworth's bloody field.
Seen thy chivalry in squadrons fall in internecine strife, And the regal Stuart yielding on the block a royal life, Heard the conflict fierce of battle, heard the raging of old wars, Seen the victor lift the vanquished and in peace forget their scars.
And by slow regeneration from the things that did degrade, Rise upon a new foundation a fair nation nobly made, In her hand the touch of freedom, in her soul the newer birth, Bent upon the nobler mission, Peace, good-will, to men of earth.
Thus to nationhood and greatness did Britannia proudly rise, Upwards, onwards, ere extending unto wider, broader skies, Penetrating lands of darkness, luminous around the world, Mothering a hundred races, guarding 'neath her flag unfurled.
Steadfast in her mighty mission, seeking for the greater good, Hampered often in her labour, often too misunderstood. Giving of her wealth and wisdom, giving birth to nations new, Giant sons who name her mother, mighty offspring to her true.
They who sentinel the vastness of an empire's broad domain, Greater than the Macedonians, mightier than Rome or Spain, Never empire such as Britain's, never one with fewer stains, Far extended, many millioned, mantling mountains, seas, and plains.
Sire, we thy sons salute thee from thy empire's utmost end; This galaxy, thy free nations, to thee heartfelt greetings send; May thy reign be long and fruitful 'neath the King of Kings above, Olden empires bound by bondage, thine is bound by chains of love.
Sovereign companion of the watery main, Who chose the ocean as thy boyish bride, Who know her passion in the hurricane, And love her with a Briton's sea-born pride; Far continents and empires hast thou trod And saw thy standards in the sunlight stream, In every land beneath the dome of God, Ere thought of Empire entered in thy dream.
Wise in the wisdom of the sea art thou To gauge the compass and control the helm; God give thee grace to guide an Empire now, Prince called to kingship o'er a mighty realm; For on the summit of eight hundred years Amid the menace of these days we stand, And crown thee King amid an Empire's cheers-- Lord of a Kingdom reaching land on land.
Upon this day uplifted crowned art thou, Full orbed and sceptred in thy kingly state, The diadem of Empire on thy brow, Throned o'er a kingdom proud, surpassing great. Thine is the King, the Sceptre, and the Sword-- Symbols of power, thine, and thine alone; And thine to keep the compact of the Lord-- To guide thy people and protect thy throne.
Lo, 'tis the awful moment! On thy head The ancient crown of Britain rests--'Tis done-- Above the tombs where sleep the kingly dead That reared a Kingdom and an Empire won. Glory on glories round thee blaze, and deep Within thy people's hearts thou art enthroned; Unfearful of the whirlwinds fierce that sweep O'er alien monarchs, banished and disowned.
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