 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
144
WAR'S CHANGES.
[_]
[Some of the most bellicose men in time of the war, had been, previously, the most strenuous advocates of peace. Mr. Israel Lamb, one thus changed, relates his own experience.]
I can't for the life of me tell what it means,
Or whether if wrong or if right,
But I love to look on militant scenes,
And am spoiling to mix in a fight.
Or whether if wrong or if right,
But I love to look on militant scenes,
And am spoiling to mix in a fight.
I late was reckoned a peaceable man,
And shrunk at all details of strife;
Now I glory the records of bloodshed to scan
And the savagest havoc of life.
And shrunk at all details of strife;
Now I glory the records of bloodshed to scan
And the savagest havoc of life.
I buy all the extras containing the news,
I read all the bulletin boards,
And 'twixt peace and war the latter I choose,
It such keen excitement affords.
I read all the bulletin boards,
And 'twixt peace and war the latter I choose,
It such keen excitement affords.
I feel disappointed every day
With the tales of monotonous peace,
And my bump of benevolence dwindles away
As my truculent organs increase.
With the tales of monotonous peace,
And my bump of benevolence dwindles away
As my truculent organs increase.
145
I never the sight of blood could bear,
I never could kill a fly;
But now the carnage of war I could share,
And look red strife in the eye.
I never could kill a fly;
But now the carnage of war I could share,
And look red strife in the eye.
I've bought me a gun and a bowie-knife,
Take lessons of Salignac,
And dreadfully frighten my timid wife
With talk of defence and attack.
Take lessons of Salignac,
And dreadfully frighten my timid wife
With talk of defence and attack.
When friends happen in to sup or dine,
I “p'sent arms” when they come;
I range them in regimental line,
And serve at the tap of the drum.
I “p'sent arms” when they come;
I range them in regimental line,
And serve at the tap of the drum.
The baby wakes me up in the night,
I fancy 'tis war's alarms,
I loudly shriek out, “On with the fight—
The Infantry to arms!”
I fancy 'tis war's alarms,
I loudly shriek out, “On with the fight—
The Infantry to arms!”
My theory for the change is this,
And strengthened every hour:
The thunder of war has turned, I wis,
My milk of kindness sour.
And strengthened every hour:
The thunder of war has turned, I wis,
My milk of kindness sour.
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