The Red Flower | Page 3

in the pines;?And the sobs of the mounting waves that rise?In the dark of the troubled deep?To break on the beach in fiery lines.?Echo the far-off roll of thunder,
Rumbling loud?And ever louder, under?The blue-black curtain of cloud,?Where the lightning serpents gleam,?Echo the moaning?Of the forest in its sleep?Like a giant groaning?In the torment of a dream.
Now an interval of quiet?For a moment holds the air?In the breathless hush?Of a silent prayer.
Then the sudden rush?Of the rain, and the riot?Of the shrieking, tearing gale?Breaks loose in the night,?With a fusillade of hail!?Hear the forest fight,?With its tossing arms that crack and clash?In the thunder's cannonade,?While the lightning's forkèd flash?Brings the old hero-trees to the ground with a crash!?Hear the breakers' deepening roar,?Driven like a herd of cattle?In the wild stampede of battle,?Trampling, trampling, trampling, to overwhelm the shore.
Is it the end of all??Will the land crumble and fall??Nay, for a voice replies?Out of the hidden skies,?"Thus far, O sea, shalt thou go,?So long, O wind, shalt thou blow:?Return to your bounds and cease,?And let the earth have peace!"
O Music, lead the way--?The stormy night is past,?Lift up our heads to greet the day,
And the joy of things that last.
The dissonance and pain?That mortals must endure?Are changed in thine immortal strain
To something great and pure.
True love will conquer strife,?And strength from conflict flows,?For discord is the thorn of life
And harmony the rose.
May, 1916.
FRANCE AND BELGIUM
THE BELLS OF MALINES
AUGUST 17, 1914
The gabled roofs of old Malines?Are russet red and gray and green,?And o'er them in the sunset hour?Looms, dark and huge, St. Rombold's tower.?High in that rugged nest concealed,?The sweetest bells that ever pealed,?The deepest bells that ever rung,?The lightest bells that ever sung,?Are waiting for the master's hand?To fling their music o'er the land.
And shall they ring to-night, Malines??In nineteen hundred and fourteen,?The frightful year, the year of woe,?When fire and blood and rapine flow?Across the land from lost Liége,?Storm-driven by the German rage??The other carillons have ceased;?Fallen is Hasselt, fallen Diesl,?From Ghent and Bruges no voices come,?Antwerp is silent, Brussels dumb!
But in thy belfry, O Malines,?The master of the bells unseen?Has climbed to where the keyboard stands,--?To-night his heart is in his hands!?Once more, before invasion's hell?Breaks round the tower he loves so well,?Once more he strikes the well-worn keys,?And sends a?rial harmonies?Far-floating through the twilight dim?In patriot song and holy hymn.
O listen, burghers of Malines!?Soldier and workman, pale béguine.?And mother with a trembling flock?Of children clinging to thy frock,--?Look up and listen, listen all!?What tunes are these that gently fall?Around you like a benison??"The Flemish Lion," "Braban?onne,"?"O brave Liége," and all the airs?That Belgium in her bosom bears.
Ring up, ye silvery octaves high,?Whose notes like circling swallows fly;?And ring, each old sonorous bell,--?"Jesu," "Maria," "Micha?l!"?Weave in and out, and high and low,?The magic music that you know,?And let it float and flutter down?To cheer the heart of the troubled town.?Ring out, "Salvator," lord of all,--?"Roland" in Ghent may hear thee call!
O brave bell-music of Malines,?In this dark hour how much you mean!?The dreadful night of blood and tears?Sweeps down on Belgium, but she hears?Deep in her heart the melody?Of songs she learned when she was free.?She will not falter, faint, nor fail,?But fight until her rights prevail?And all her ancient belfries ring?"The Flemish Lion," "God Save the King!"
THE NAME OF FRANCE
Give us a name to fill the mind?With the shining thoughts that lead mankind,?The glory of learning, the joy of art,--?A name that tells of a splendid part.?In long, long toil and the strenuous fight?Of the human race to win its way?From the feudal darkness into the day?Of Freedom, Brotherhood, Equal Right,--?A name like a star, a name of light.?I give you France!
Give us a name to stir the blood?With a warmer glow and a swifter flood,?At the touch of a courage that knows not fear,--?A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear.?And silver-sweet, and iron-strong,?That calls three million men to their feet,?Ready to march, and steady to meet?The foes who threaten that name with wrong,--?A name that rings like a battle-song.?I give you France!
Give us a name to move the heart?With the strength that noble griefs impart,?A name that speaks of the blood outpoured?To save mankind from the sway of the sword,--?A name that calls on the world to share?In the burden of sacrificial strife?When the cause at stake is the world's free life?And the rule of the people everywhere,--?A name like a vow, a name like a prayer.?I give you France!
The Hague, September, 1916.
JEANNE D'ARC RETURNS
1914 1916
What hast thou done, O womanhood of France,?Mother and daughter, sister, sweetheart, wife,?What hast thou done, amid this fateful strife,?To prove the pride of thine inheritance.?In this fair land of freedom and romance??I hear thy voice with tears and courage rife,--?Smiling against the swords that seek thy life--?Make answer in a