It was strange
indeed, that journey! Never yet had I crossed the sea
Or looked on another people than the folk that had fostered
me,
And my heart rose up and fluttered as in the misty night
We came on the fleet of the fishers slow rolling in the light
Of the hidden moon, as the sea dim under the false dawn lay;
And so like shadows of ships through the night they faded
away,
And Calais pier was upon us. Dreamlike it was indeed
As we sat in the train together, and toward the end made
speed.
But a dull sleep came upon me, and through the sleep a dream
Of the Frenchman who once was my master by the side of the
willowy stream;
And he talked and told me tales of the war unwaged as yet,
And the victory never won, and bade me never forget,
While I walked on, still unhappy, by the home of the dark-striped
perch.
Till at last, with a flash of light and a rattle and side-long
lurch,
I woke up dazed and witless, till my sorrow awoke again,
And the grey of the morn was upon us as we sped through the
poplar plain,
By the brimming streams and the houses with their grey roofs
warped and bent,
And the horseless plough in the furrow, and things fair and
innocent.
And there sat my wife before me, and she, too, dreamed as she
slept;
For the slow tears fell from her eyelids as in her sleep she
wept.
p. 48But Arthur
sat by my side and waked; and flushed was his face,
And his eyes were quick to behold the picture of each fair
place
That we flashed by as on we hurried; and I knew that the joy of
life
Was strongly stirred within him by the thought of the coming
strife.
Then I too thought for a little, It is good in grief’s
despite,
It is good to see earth’s pictures, and so live in the day
and the light.
Yea, we deemed that to death we were hastening, and it made our
vision clear,
And we knew the delight of our life-days, and held their sorrow
dear.
But now when we came unto Paris and were out in
the sun and the street,
It was strange to see the faces that our wondering eyes did
meet;
Such joy and peace and pleasure! That folk were glad we
knew,
But knew not the why and the wherefore; and we who had just come
through
The vanquished land and down-cast, and there at St. Denis
e’en now
Had seen the German soldiers, and heard their bugles blow,
And the drum and fife go rattling through the freshness of the
morn—
Yet here we beheld all joyous the folk they had made forlorn!
So at last from a grey stone building we saw a great flag fly,
One colour, red and solemn ’gainst the blue of the
spring-tide sky,
And we stopped and turned to each other, and as each at each did
we gaze,
The city’s hope enwrapped us with joy and great amaze.
As folk in a dream we washed and we ate, and in
all detail,
Oft told and in many a fashion, did we have all yesterday’s
tale:
How while we were threading our tangle of trouble in London
there,
And I for my part, let me say it, within but a step of
despair,
In Paris the day of days had betid; for the vile dwarf’s
stroke,
To madden Paris and crush her, had been struck and the dull sword
broke;
There was now no foe and no fool in the city, and Paris was
free;
And e’en as she is this morning, to-morrow all France will
be.
p. 49We heard,
and our hearts were saying, “In a little while all the
earth—”
And that day at last of all days I knew what life was worth;
For I saw what few have beheld, a folk with all hearts gay.
Then at last I knew indeed that our word of the coming day,
That so oft in grief and in sorrow I had preached, and scarcely
knew
If it was but despair of the present or the hope of the day that
was due—
I say that I saw it now, real, solid and at hand.
And strange how my heart went back to our
little nook of the land,
And how plain and clear I saw it, as though I longed indeed
To give it a share of the joy and the satisfaction of need
That here in the folk I beheld. For this in our country
spring
Did the starlings bechatter the gables, and the thrush in the
thorn-bush sing,
And the green cloud spread o’er the willows, and the little
children rejoice
And shout midst a nameless longing to the morning’s mingled
voice;
For this was the promise of spring-tide, and the new leaves
longing to burst,
And the white roads threading the acres, and the sun-warmed
meadows athirst.
Once all was the work of sorrow and the life without reward,
And the toil that fear hath bidden, and the folly of master and
lord;
But now are all things changing, and hope without a fear
Shall speed us on through the story of the changes of the
year.
Now spring shall pluck the garland that summer weaves for all,
And autumn spread the banquet and winter fill the hall.
O earth, thou kind bestower, thou ancient fruitful place,
How lovely and beloved now gleams thy happy face!
And O mother, mother, I said, hadst thou known
as I lay in thy lap,
And for me thou hopedst and fearedst, on what days my life should
hap,
Hadst thou known of the death that I look for, and the deeds
wherein I should deal,
How calm had been thy gladness! How sweet hadst thou smiled
on my weal!
p. 50As some
woman of old hadst thou wondered, who hath brought forth a god of
the earth,
And in joy that knoweth no speech she dreams of the happy
birth.
Yea, fair were those hours indeed, whatever
hereafter might come,
And they swept over all my sorrow, and all thought of my wildered
home.
But not for dreams of rejoicing had we come across the sea:
That day we delivered the letters that our friends had given to
me,
And we craved for some work for the cause. And what work
was there indeed,
But to learn the business of battle and the manner of dying at
need?
We three could think of none other, and we wrought our best
therein;
And both of us made a shift the sergeant’s stripes to
win,
For diligent were we indeed: and he, as in all he did,
Showed a cheerful ready talent that nowise might be hid,
And yet hurt the pride of no man that he needs must step
before.
But as for my wife, the brancard of the ambulance-women
she wore,
And gently and bravely would serve us; and to all as a sister to
be—
A sister amidst of the strangers—and, alas! a sister to
me.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg