Poetical Pictures of the Great War Suitable for Recitation. First Series ... Second Series ... Third Series ... Fourth Series. By Mackenzie Bell |
 |
|
THE FAITHFUL DOG.
|
 |
|
 | Poetical Pictures of the Great War |  |
THE FAITHFUL DOG.
(A French Soldier's True Tale.)
Slowly I come from poignant dreams of pain,
Wounded how sorely. Weak yet all too weak
To know my weakness, once, and yet again,
Something stirs near me, though it does not speak.
Wounded how sorely. Weak yet all too weak
To know my weakness, once, and yet again,
Something stirs near me, though it does not speak.
Grievous are my dire hurts. A piece of shell
Is lodged within my arm; a sabre thrust
Has wounded now my head; and, lo! as well
A rifle ball is in my cheek. I must
Is lodged within my arm; a sabre thrust
Has wounded now my head; and, lo! as well
A rifle ball is in my cheek. I must
Lie prone among the dead, yet life is sweet,
Yea, sweet, despite mine agony. Methought
Anon some living thing has touched me,—meet
To render aid—Oh! helplessness unsought
Yea, sweet, despite mine agony. Methought
Anon some living thing has touched me,—meet
To render aid—Oh! helplessness unsought
Which leaves me thus to suffer 'mid the dead
Bearing mine anguish, anguish constant, sore
Would, would, that I could rouse me, if instead
Of death, there comes the kindly touch once more.
Bearing mine anguish, anguish constant, sore
Would, would, that I could rouse me, if instead
Of death, there comes the kindly touch once more.
Once more comes the soft touch. With opened eyes
I see it is our faithful dog who comes
To aid his wounded friends. With sad surprise
He sees me in this dreadful case. The drums
I see it is our faithful dog who comes
To aid his wounded friends. With sad surprise
He sees me in this dreadful case. The drums
Were beating “the attack” when last we met,
And triumph seemed in sight. How different now!
Yet he may save me. I will not regret
My pain in calling him should Fate allow
And triumph seemed in sight. How different now!
Yet he may save me. I will not regret
My pain in calling him should Fate allow
This much of good. He sees. He understands.
He goes to call my comrades. Not too late
Perchance they yet may reach me,—gentle hands
May raise me, or with drink my thirst abate.
He goes to call my comrades. Not too late
Perchance they yet may reach me,—gentle hands
May raise me, or with drink my thirst abate.
I hear, I hear at last the measured tread
Of hurrying footsteps! Soon will they be here.
Thank God I shall not perish 'mid the dead,
Living, may yet His holy name revere.
Of hurrying footsteps! Soon will they be here.
Thank God I shall not perish 'mid the dead,
Living, may yet His holy name revere.
| Poetical Pictures of the Great War | |