English

Three then came forward out of darkness, one
An old man bearded, his old eyes red with weeping,
A peasant, with hard hands. ‘Come now,’ he said,
‘And see the road, for which our people die.
Twelve miles of road we've made, a little only,
Westward winding. Of human blood and stone
We build; and in a thousand years will come
Beyond the hills to sea.’

I went with them,
Taking a lantern, which upon their faces
Showed years and grief; and in a time we came
To the wild road which wound among wild hills

This is the forest primeval.
This the spruce with the glorious plume
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the lumberman big and browned
Who felled the spruce tree to the ground
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the man with the paper mill
Who bought the pulp that paid the bill
Of the husky lumberjack who chopped
The lofty spruce and its branches lopped
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the publisher bland and rich
Who bought the roll of paper which

This beauty made me dream there was a time
Long past and irrecoverable, a clime
Where any brook so radiant racing clear
Through buttercup and kingcup bright as brass
But gentle, nourishing the meadow grass
That leans and scurries in the wind, would bear
Another beauty, divine and feminine,
Child to the sun, a nymph whose soul unstained
Could love all day, and never hate or tire,
A lover of mortal or immortal kin.

And yet, rid of this dream, ere I had drained
Its poison, quieted was my desire

They fought south of the Castle,
They died north of the wall.
They died in the moors and were not buried.
Their flesh was the food of crows.
"Tell the crows we are not afraid;
We have died in the moors and cannot be buried.
Crows, how can our bodies escape you?"
The waters flowed deep
And the rushes in the pool were dark.
The riders fought and were slain:
Their horses wander neighing.
By the bridge there was a house.
Was it south, was it north?
The harvest was never gathered.
How can we give you your offerings?

There's heaven above, and night by night
I look right through its gorgeous roof;
No suns and moons though e'er so bright
Avail to stop me; splendour-proof
I keep the broods of stars aloof:
For I intend to get to God,
For 'tis to God I speed so fast,
For in God's breast, my own abode,
Those shoals of dazzling glory passed,
I lay my spirit down at last.
I lie where I have always lain,
God smiles as he has always smiled;
Ere suns and moons could wax and wane,
Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled

There's a graveyard near the White House
Where the Unknown Soldier lies,
And the flowers there are sprinkled
With the tears from mother's eyes.

I stood there not so long ago
With roses for the brave,
And suddenly I heard a voice
Speak from out the grave:

“I am the Unknown Soldier,”
The spirit voice began,
“And I think I have the right
To ask some questions man to man.

“Are my buddies taken care of?
Was their victory so sweet?
Is that big reward you offered
Selling pencils on the street?

There went most passionately to Life, Impellance,
And thrilled it with the high perception of divines;
And through a blight of gloom its request fought for
Heaven, its hospice, light, investure ante-natal,
And hope, impact of fathom, lucid suavity.

Sum speiks of Lords, sum speiks of Lairds,
And siclyke Men of hie Degrie,
Of a Gentleman I sing a Sang,
Sumtyme calld Laird of Gilnockie.
The King he wrytes a luving Letter
With his ain Hand sae tenderly,
And he hath sent it to Johny Armstrang,
To cum and speik with him speidily.

The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene;
They were a gallant Company:
Weill ryde and meit our lawful King,
And bring him safe to Gilnockie.
Make Kinnen and Capon ready then,
And Venison in great Plenty,
Weill welcome Hame our Royal King,

The strong sob of the chafing stream
That seaward fights its way
Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam,
Is in the hills to-day.

But far and faint, a grey-winged form
Hangs where the wild lights wane--
The phantom of a bygone storm,
A ghost of wind and rain.

The soft white feet of afternoon
Are on the shining meads,
The breeze is as a pleasant tune
Amongst the happy reeds.

The fierce, disastrous, flying fire,
That made the great caves ring,
And scarred the slope, and broke the spire,

Stand by the Flag! Its stars like meteors gleaming,
—Have lighted Arctic icebergs, southern seas,
And shone responsive to the stormy beaming
—Of old Arcturus and the Pleiades.

Stand by the Flag! Its stripes have streamed in glory,
—To foes a fear, to friends a festal robe,
And spread in rhythmic lines the sacred story
—Of Freedom's triumphs over all the globe.

Stand by the Flag! On land and ocean billow
—By it your fathers stood unmoved and true,
Living defended; dying, from their pillow,