University of Virginia Library

VIII.

A youthful soldier looked around
Upon the ghastly battle ground.
He was a conscript, ne'er before
Had he beheld the face of War,
He saw not all its deeps of pain,
For former scenes arose again,
Once more he was a child at play,
In that steep village street which lay,
Crag-perched, 'mid tree-boles gnarled and grey
With age. It was the close of day.
Was that the church he knew of old,
That the rude cross where he was told
The story of the ancient time
So full of mystery, lust, and crime?
Ah, how he loved yon olive wood,
To him how sweet its solitude,
How oft on many a summer night
He watched from there the fading light,
Till grew more bright and yet more bright
The distant lamps of great Marseilles,
And when at length the daylight fails,
Fair seem the stars, fair seems the sea,
Ah, how at once his memory
Brings back for him these moonlit hours
'Mid fragrance of the orange flowers.
Fresh is the air, and soft and still,
Save when the mistral brings its chill.
Once more he feels the morning breeze
Which gently curls the azure seas
Around his father's fishing-boat,
That like a live thing seems to float.
Lovely it looks with dark brown sail,
Outspread to catch each gentle gale.
And when the noontide comes at length
The crew refresh their waning strength
By frugal meal, or merry jest,
By games, or cheerful talk, or rest.
One man had fought where waned the star
Of France in fight off Trafalgar;
Another speaks of Austerlitz,
And shows the combat as he sits.
With eager words, with eyes aflame,
He tells the tale, “The Emperor came
To our right flank when sore distressed:
We needed succour, needed rest,
Yet better was his presence then
Than of a thousand untired men.”
So, early stirred the martial fire
In the boy's breast—the fond desire
To win the soldier's honoured name,
To win the soldier's meed of fame.
To him an order comes ere long
To join the army; 'mid a throng
Of youths he gains a barrack square,
Strange seems the ceaseless bustle there.
Here well-groomed horses drink their fill;
Here is an active squad at drill;
Here words of gaiety he hears;
And here a mother stands in tears;
Here stands a veteran hale, erect,
In garb that points to no neglect,
Though he has marched full many a mile,
In blazing sunshine all the while,
A faultless soldier he has been,
No chance of war could change his mien;
Here stands a youth with shambling gait,
In soldier's dress, yet unelate,
With stupid look, and vacant face,
As though his garb were some disgrace;
Here agile gunners clean a gun;
And here, his day's work nearly done,
A driver of the army train
Brings in his store of food and grain.
The conscript thinks with what glad heart
In scenes like these he took a part.
With joy his boy's heart overflows,
He longs to smite his country's foes,
Of what he leaves he scarce takes heed,
Civilian clothes he doffs with speed,
To him his uniform brings life,
He thinks of glory in the strife.
He thinks, as now the sun goes down,
Of lasting honour and renown;
To him War is not sad, but strange—
It gives him motion, stir, and change.