Page:Patriotic pieces from the Great War, Jones, 1918.djvu/60

56 THE MISCREANT

By permission of the author

It was a slender Belgian lad,

A child to make a father glad,

Negligent, he stood beside

The highway, stretching white and wide;

Thence had come but yesterday

The Uhlans riding on their way;

And now was heard, in steady beat,

A rising sound of marching feet.

They came, a mass of gray pulsating,

Steady-moving, palpitating,

On with unrelenting tread:

Spiked the helmet on each head,

Straight each gun, each eye, each stride,

Each belt, each knapsack coincide,

A bayonet rattled at each side.

The word rang, "Halt," and at the sound

The rifle butts thud on the ground.

"Come here, my boy," the Captain cried,

"Last night, a certain Belgian died;

And why, would'st know? that Belgian lied.

Now, tell me, thou, and tell me true—

Lest such a fate befall thee, too—

Look squarely at me, hold thee still:

Lie Belgian troops on yonder hill?"

The boy nor flinched nor caught his breath,