Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/212

 212

Within the frozen statuary of death,

Was softened by that radiant 'whelming flood.

Alert and silent the thin outpost stood;

The deep-drawn breath

Told how the tide of memory ebbed and flowed,

And each heart glowed

Whene'er they heard him pass from post to post,

A word of home and England on his lip,

The seal and guerdon of their comradeship,

And fear was lost

In the assurance speaking in his eyes:

"He lives who dies!"

Just before dawn a cloud-bank drew the moon

Behind her ramparts; the black pall of night

Fell on the slope; hope vanished with the light;

They listened; soon

A stone dislodged the climbing feet betrayed,

They searched the darkness with a fusillade;

Then to the stripling: "You will keep guard here;

I'll wait them there,"

The leader whispered, pointing with his sword

Out where a furrow folded in its dead,

Where a long furrow drank the stains of red—

And disappeared

Over the looming parapet. A breeze

Ruffled the silence and died down again.

Would he assail dark destiny in vain?

The nine hearts freeze

At a low gurgling sob of agony,

But flutter free

As one—two—three revolver shots ring out—

A stifled shout,

A scuffle and a groan—and lo! the light

Returns as at the call of destiny:

Down the white slope the stumbling foemen flee

In piteous plight—

Nine rifles rattle forth, nine voices cheer,