Page:Canadian poems of the great war.djvu/41

 Horace Bray

And every bullet sped to find a mark,

But man by man the little group fell dead.

Faces all palled, black with battle smoke;

Strong hands tight clutched in lust of battle flame; And still the living islet never broke,

And still the hordes of dusky legions came.

The stars in solemn circles marched above, And what a sight was this they stooped to see!

No mercy here, or pity sweet, or love, But crashing death, and lust of victory !

Dawn lightened on the hills in cold gray streaks;

But few were there, indeed, who cheered the day: And still the rush of battle, still the shrieks

As steel drove sternly home the Saxon way.

A soldier paused in all the din of strife

And drew a banner from his heaving breast;

He fixed it to a staff, and newer life

Came with that sign and strengthened all the rest.

And ever burned the flag above the fray ;

And all about the ring of heroes stood ; And all about a dreadful rampart lay

Wounded and dead in sodden pools of blood.

Few stood, and fewer still; and at the last None stood to check the rush of dusky foes;

But ere one alien foot the circle passed, A dying lad, a slender youth arose

He rose and cast a look of pride and scorn, And from the shattered staff the flag he drew

The scarlet emblem, bloody, smoke-grimed, torn, And, on the smouldering watchfire embers, threw ;

He swayed and fell, the flag sent up a smoke Of incense to the memory of the brave

The memory of the post that never broke, The post that fills one great forgotten grave.

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