Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/214

212 No more they’ll talk of what they owe, the dues of sacrifice (One hates to be reminded of an everlasting debt). It’s all in human nature. Ah! the world will soon forget.

My mind goes back to where I lay wound-rotted on the plain, And ate the muddy mangold roots, and drank the drops of dew, And dragged myself for miles and miles when every move was pain, And over me the carrion-crows were retching as they flew. Oh, ere I closed my eyes and stuck my rifle in the air I wish that those who picked me up had passed and left me there.

Oh, one gets used to everything! I hum a merry song, And up the street and round the square I wheel my chair along; For look you, how my chest is sound And how my arms are strong!

Oh, one gets used to anything! It’s awkward at the first, And jolting o’er the cobbles gives