Page:Canadian poems of the great war.djvu/217

 Robert W. Service

It was the little bare- foot boy who came with cup abrim And walked up to the dying man, and gave the drink to him.

A roar of rage! They seize the boy; they tear him fast

away.

The Prussian Major swings around; no longer is he gay. His teeth are wolfishly agleam ; his face all dark with

spite: iT^4^i

Go, shoot the brat/ he snarls, that dare defy our

Prussian might. Yet stay! I have another thought. I ll kindly be, and

spare ; Quick ! give the lad a rifle charged, and set him squarely

there, And bid him shoot, and shoot to kill. Haste ! make him

understand The dying dog he fain would save shall perish by his

hand; And all his kindred they shall see, and all shall curse his

name, Who bought his life at such a cost, the price of death

and shame.

They brought the boy, wild-eyed with fear; they made

him understand ;

They stood him by the dying man, a rifle in his hand. Make haste ! said they ; the time is short, and you must

kill or die.

The Major puffed his cigarette, amusement in his eye. And then the dying Zouave heard, and raised his weary

head : Shoot, son, twill be the best for both; shoot swift and

straight, he said; Fire first and last, and do not flinch, for lost to hope

am I ; And I will murmur : Vive La France ! and bless you ere

I die.

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