Poetical Pictures of the Great War Suitable for Recitation. First Series ... Second Series ... Third Series ... Fourth Series. By Mackenzie Bell |
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PRAISE TO THE BRAVE.
“Dulce et decorum est patria mori.”
Sweet and fitting is it to die for the fatherland.
Old Roman Proverb.
Sweet and fitting is it to die for the fatherland.
Old Roman Proverb.
. . . “naught can make us rue
If England to herself remain but true.”
Shakespeare.
If England to herself remain but true.”
Shakespeare.
[_]
A quotation which, I think, peculiarly appropriate to the national circumstances of his country at this, his third centenary.
Police Constable Alexander Dundas, T Division of the Metropolitan Force, stationed at Teddington, was a very
Men of the Union! see to it,
That aye, 'mid joy or ruth,
Worthy are ye of such a one
In constancy and truth.
That aye, 'mid joy or ruth,
Worthy are ye of such a one
In constancy and truth.
Constant since boyhood's day he strives to serve
Wherever Duty calls him, and to nerve
His soul to truth. At first a sailor's life
Is his, with many a pleasant change how rife!
But soon, he finds his duty just as sweet
In changeless circuits of a London “beat.”
When war's fierce stormcloud bursts, how suddenly!
To him there comes once more the call to sea.
Then, ever brave, he leaves his much-loved home
To fight for Britain on the northern foam.
One day on him there dawns a sense of harm,
He knows not why,—a subtle, vague alarm,
Though, like young Nelson, “never saw” he “Fear,”
His inmost soul is thrilled by danger near.
His is the watch. Eager he scans the deep
With eyes all vigilant, and sees, up-creep
A periscope. It is! it is the foe!
'Tis instant now to strike ere yet below
The dread torpedo speeds. He fires his gun,
And saves his ship. What then? What he has done
He lacks an order for, so speedily
Behold him made a prisoner, but when he
At length, hath justice, gone is dire disgrace,
His mates are called, and, now, before his face,
He hears himself high praised, and, for the rest,
The D.S.M. he wears upon his breast.
Wherever Duty calls him, and to nerve
His soul to truth. At first a sailor's life
Is his, with many a pleasant change how rife!
In changeless circuits of a London “beat.”
When war's fierce stormcloud bursts, how suddenly!
To him there comes once more the call to sea.
Then, ever brave, he leaves his much-loved home
To fight for Britain on the northern foam.
One day on him there dawns a sense of harm,
He knows not why,—a subtle, vague alarm,
Though, like young Nelson, “never saw” he “Fear,”
His inmost soul is thrilled by danger near.
His is the watch. Eager he scans the deep
With eyes all vigilant, and sees, up-creep
A periscope. It is! it is the foe!
'Tis instant now to strike ere yet below
The dread torpedo speeds. He fires his gun,
And saves his ship. What then? What he has done
He lacks an order for, so speedily
Behold him made a prisoner, but when he
At length, hath justice, gone is dire disgrace,
His mates are called, and, now, before his face,
He hears himself high praised, and, for the rest,
The D.S.M. he wears upon his breast.
But, ah! the gallant hearts foredoomed to die!
One day a seeming merchantman drew nigh
His ship, the “Alcantara,” which was sent
To search for contraband. Swiftly she went
Towards the stranger. See! she lowers a boat
To take the searchers. Scarce is that a-float
(Dundas is in her) than all suddenly
False bulwarks dropt are by the enemy,
A broadside, winged with death, booms o'er the wave,
Striking the boat, and slaying all the brave
Therein.
One day a seeming merchantman drew nigh
His ship, the “Alcantara,” which was sent
To search for contraband. Swiftly she went
To take the searchers. Scarce is that a-float
(Dundas is in her) than all suddenly
False bulwarks dropt are by the enemy,
A broadside, winged with death, booms o'er the wave,
Striking the boat, and slaying all the brave
Therein.
Dundas's torch of life is out!
But puissant Death can never put to rout
Courage like his. It lives from age to age,
A glorious, mighty, deathless heritage.
Britain shall live long as her sons can say
“Our mother still exults in ‘heroes of to-day.’”
But puissant Death can never put to rout
Courage like his. It lives from age to age,
A glorious, mighty, deathless heritage.
Britain shall live long as her sons can say
“Our mother still exults in ‘heroes of to-day.’”
Men of the Union! see to it,
That aye, 'mid joy or ruth,
Worthy are ye of such a one
In constancy and truth.
That aye, 'mid joy or ruth,
Worthy are ye of such a one
In constancy and truth.
Easter Monday, April 24, 1916.
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