| |
| BOMB and ball and shell | |
| Had done their work so well | |
| That, after many weeks, | |
| The city fell— | |
| (To save the women, so the burghers said.) | 5 |
| |
| Then with red-dripping sword, | |
| We, the enemy, poured | |
| Down through the streets | |
| To know what spoils the city might afford. | |
| (What are the spoils of war?) | 10 |
| |
| A corporal, nameless, with a little troop | |
| Of nameless men, has stopped before a stoop | |
| Whose door’s ajar. | |
| The corporal laughs. “Ha! Note the family group!” | |
| (A man and wife, three daughters—and a dog.) | 15 |
| |
| Ten of the soldiers enter. “Seize the goat. | |
| No, no, don’t shoot him—cut the villain’s throat. | |
| That’s right, a little blood. Don’t splutter so, you fool, before the ladies. | |
| What, not dead yet? You’ve bled a quart, you bloat!” | |
| (A corporal must have his joke, you know.) | 20 |
| |
| “Well, let him die. There’s tastier business now. | |
| Here, you two nearest, strip me that old sow. | |
| Too fat by far—but get those rags off, boys— | |
| That’s it. Now tie her up, so she can see the row.” | |
| (What are the spoils of war?) | 25 |
| |
| “Now for the ninnies. Three to each, and quick! | |
| Hell!—what a form! She’d make a queen look sick! | |
| She’s mine. You take the others, | |
| And when you’re through, a butt’ll do the trick.” | |
| (A rifle butt is a handy thing, they say.) | 30 |
| |
| An hour later.—“Stretch them in a row. | |
| |
| The old sow’s fainted. Didn’t like the show, | |
| Perhaps. Fat—ugh! Better unburden her belly— | |
| That’s it—a twist of the sword. Well, bring the dog, and off we go.” | |
| (A mascot’s good to keep the spirits up.) . . . . . . . | 35 |
| Again the howl of war; | |
| Again the roar | |
| Of cannon, and the rain | |
| Of bombs from ships that soar. | |
| (And we must win, for God is on our side!) | 40 |
| |
| The devilish enemy | |
| Force onward, sullenly. | |
| We are turned, driven, routed— | |
| Drop everything, and flee. | |
| (Why does not God uphold the right?) | 45 |
| |
| But see! The flag is raised | |
| And waved aloft! Amazed, | |
| But ready to be led, we turn about. | |
| ’Tis the work of the very God we praised. | |
| (Men can do worse than follow a flag.) | 50 |
| |
| And there in the mighty din | |
| We win, | |
| And turn to see who bore the colors back. | |
| We gather round and hem the hero in— | |
| (A nameless corporal, now to be named forever.) . . . . . . . | 55 |
| Mark where the hero stands, | |
| A banner in his hands; | |
| Banner of bronze in hands of bronze! | |
| Bronze on granite forever he stands. | |
| (Was he not chosen of God?) | 60 |
| |
