Chapter II

Then Love assumes a calmer mood, when spent--
His quiver empty and his bow unstrung--
And peers into the pleasing Past, content
To live, unmoved, his memories among.

STRONGARM'S WATERLOO

_Some_ drive! From tee to green in one: par, three!
That's putting proper English on, you see!
And, Goodness Golfus! See the ball roll up
To easy putting distance from the cup.
Who is this man? Professional, no doubt!
He'll "card" a thirty-seven going out;
And if he gets the "breaks" he'll make, methinks,
A new low record for the Piedmont Links.
See with what confidence he wends his way
The Fairway thru to make his hole out play!
The Gallery, expectant, follows thru
To see the Champion go down in _two_.
Then to the ball he makes his last address,
(The ball was peeved at what he said, I guess)
And pulls his gooseneck back a foot or so
Before he hits the sphere the fateful blow.
Alas for human frailty! See it flit
Across the green into the sandy pit!
The sighing winds, in protest, moaned Beware!
While he invoked the Deity in prayer.
And then he played his third, but topped the sphere,
The Rubber Rogue responding with a leer.

A halo hung around the Stranger's head
It seemed: but, nay! 'twas brimstone fire instead,
For what he said, in type is not displayed
Except on fire-proof paper, I'm afraid.

Four! Five! Six! But still far from the goal!
The Player loses all his self-control
And breaks the "goose" in twain: then hark the din,
When Caddie trails the ball and _kicks it in_!

Far from the scene of strife the Club House becks
The weary Golfers on their inward treks;
And close beside, beneath the porch's shade,
The Nineteenth hole dispenses lemonade
And other cheering drinks, within the law;
But little ice that cuts: who cares a straw?

THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE

Yes! I've done my bit, as you fellows would say,
If serving one's country deserves any praise:
Two years at the front, then an arm shot away!
And this is my "cross" in reward for those days.
But I can do more! While there's blood in my veins
I'll give the last drop, while the hoof of the Hun
Polluted and cloven in Alsace remains:
Until France is free we must fight: every one!

Of course I'll go back to the trenches again:
My wound is fast healing and soon will be sound;
Six chevrons have I, but I'll fight with the men
Who fill up the shell-holes like moles in the ground.
I'll charge with the Boys when they hurdle the top,
The Tri-color lashed to my half-useless arm,
With pistol or sword in my hand, till I drop:
For Freedom is menaced: Go sound the alarm!

France needs every son, be they crippled or strong,
To rid our fair land of the murderous horde:
So flock to the Colors, Brave Boys: come along!
And fight till the Glory of France is restored!
Our women are outraged, our children enslaved;
Up, Frenchmen! and strike till the last dying breath!
We can _never_ turn back, so be it engraved
On our spears and escutcheons,--_Vengeance or Death_!

WAR

Down by the village runs the stream
Once placid, now a raging flood:
Behold it, by the day's last gleam
Gorged with the dead and dyed with blood.

The Chapel bell has tolled its last;
The trees are bare, tho this be Spring:
Death's shroud is on the village cast,
And Ruin reigns o'er everything.

A grist of carnage clogs the Mill,
And shells have razed the quondam homes:
Fresh graves the trampled vineyards fill,
Whose cellars are but catacombs.

Beyond the village, Refugees
Stand, herded, cowed by fear and grief,
Or, _gassed_, implore on bended knees
For death, despairing of relief.

With bayonets and faces set
The Grenadiers, by L'Aiglon led,
Present a gruesome parapet,--
Thus, _still defending_, tho they're dead.

SONG OF THE SAMSONS

We are Samsons, Biff! Boom! Bang!
Here to pot the Potsdam Gang.
If Bad Bill is found in Metz,
We'll not vouch for what he gets!
If in Essen he is caught,
Good Night! Kultur, Him und Gott!
Shades of Bismarck! Watch him faint
When he finds his Empire _ain't_!

To our Sweethearts we said "Knit,"
We must go and do our Bit!
How d'ye do, Pierrot? Pierrette?
We are friends of Lafayette!
Wait until our Drive begins,--
Bill, you'll suffer for your sins!
Sick 'em, Prince! We'll tie the fuse
Onto Frederich Wilhelm's shoes.

When we occupy Cologne--
Phew! How big and strong you've grown!
We will paint each shop and lodge
With bright red in camouflage!
Then to Carlsbad we will swing;
Need the baths like everything!
Frauleins leave your fears behind;
We don't war on womankind!

We are filled with fire and zeal:
Watch us pick the locks to Kiel!
We are coming to our own
In Lorraine across the Rhone!
When our Flocks of Eaglets fly--
Dunder! Blitzen! Bill, Good-bye!
Beaks of Steel and Claws of Lead--
Sun eclipsed! The Geezer's dead.

CHORUS

O, you U Boats,
That for U!
We slipped thru you;
How d'y' do?
Hindenberg? Ach, let him rant!
He won't stop us _'cause he can't_!
Zepps and Taubs are falling down;
Butcher Bill will lose his crown;
Watch your step, you Horrid Hun,
You can't _goosestep_ when you _run_!

Hooray for the crimson, white and blue!
'Rah for Old Glory! _Chapeau bas vous!_
'Rah for the Tri-Color! We're at home
In _la belle_ France by the _eau de_ Somme;
Hooray for our Allies true and brave!
We'll all sweep thru like a tidal wave
Over the _top_ in a mighty Drive--
And never stop while the HUNDS survive!

SIX DAYS

O, the comfort we feel
When we finish a meal
Consisting of rice cakes and whey;
Because beyond question
There's no indigestion
At the end of a Meatless day.

When the "buck" dough doth rise
From y'East to the skies
And hot griddled pancakes--oh, say!
With sausages frying
There's no use denying
Your welcome, O Wheatless day.

When the house is afrost
Without fuel: its cost
Is more than we're able to pay:
With our hearts all aglow
We can thaw ice or snow
Making light of a Heatless day.

When there's discord with wife
There's a shadow on life
That once was so sunny and gay;
But billing and cooing
Subordinate stewing
At the end of a Sweetless day!

When will beefsteak and ham
Not be sold by the gram?
How long will these high prices stay?
When the bad Profiteers
Show contrition and tears
At the dawn of a Cheatless day.

When our Soldiers in France
Do their Indian dance
And scalp all the Huns in the fray,
The Kaiser will holler,
With rope for a collar,
At the end of his Ruthless day!

A PROTEST

While now 'tis meet to eat fish, eggs and maize,
_Vice_ meat and wheat whene'er we dine or sup,
So be it! but this protest I would raise--
In spite of warnings--veal keeps bobbing up!

A PRAYER

O Sun and Skies, that Hoover o'er our Fields
Where Grains implanted lie, and Silos stand,--
Pour out thy Warmth and Rains till Hunger yields
Thruout the World to our blest _Fodder_land!

SINCE THE LITTLE ONE CAME

I seem to have taken a new lease on life
Since the little one came;
I've lost the old grouch, and I say to my wife,
Do you think I'm to blame
Because I have changed in my feelings towards you
Since the Little One came?
The furnace, 'tis true, gave me something to do,
But I think it a shame
That some tiny tie like the Little One here
(How is Snooks for a name?)
Was not sooner left on our doorstep, my dear!

The Store takes my time, but a very small part,--
It's all over at four!
I've cut Clancy's out and have made a new start;
All my cronies are sore!
But what do I care? I have mended my ways,
So I rush from the Store
And hasten back home where the Little One plays
On the ruggèd hall floor,
And pick him up quick (O, how pretty he looks!)
Without shutting the door;
So anxious I am to caress little _Snooks_.

The chafing-dish chafes and the Joy-car is sore;
We have given them up!
The Two-step and Bridge are tabooed evermore;
There is Joy in our Cup!
We've cut out the movies and dining about
For our own modest sup;
And billiards and golfing, I've cut them both out!
As I did to the Hup.
With playthings and drum (and a ruppy, tup, tup!)
Loaded up like a Krupp,
I beat it to Snooky,--our _English Bull Pup_.

RUN ALONG, LITTLE GIRL!

Run along, Little Girl! for it's bed-time now:
Your Dollies are sleepy and poor old Bow-wow
Is weary and lonesome, curled up in a heap--
'Twould take little rocking to put him to sleep!
Your Teddy Bear's growling: or is it a snore?
Perhaps he objects to his bed on the floor?
So pick up your treasures and when prayers are said--
Run along, Little Girl, and climb in to bed!

Run along, Little Girl! The Sandman is here;
You've crowded too much into one day, I fear!
Poor, little, tired Girlie, you've worked at your play
Till the bloom of your cheeks has faded away.
To-morrow, again, you can sit by the fire
And dress all your Dollies in gala attire.
Say, Good Night! to your thimble, needle and seams;
Run along, Little Girl, and sweet be your dreams!

Run along, Little Girl, and cover up tight!
There's nothing to harm you, no spooks in the night
Nor Bogeymen glaring when you are awake;
For they're _bad_ little girls that Bogeymen take.

To-morrow Bow-wow can be hitched to your sled
And draw you to Grandma's to see Piggie fed;
No harm can befall you when Mother is near;
Run along, Little Girl, and God bless you, Dear!

A RETROSPECT

Picture a Home with love aglow and laughter
Reverberating from each joist and rafter;
A sweet-faced Mother kissing you "Good Night"!
With "Go to sleep! lest Santa Claus take fright
And dashes by--leaving no books or toys
For naughty, wide-eyed, little girls and boys."
Then see her tip-toe down the stairs, and trim
The tree--a toy on ev'ry outstretched limb;
The rocking-horse and wagon at the base,
And candy-stockings in the big fireplace:
For thus we retrospect to show, no other
Would scheme and work and "fabricate" like Mother
To make our Christmas Day a grand fruition,
And keep the secret of its sweet tradition.

THE EAGLE SCREAMS

We have arrived! America is First!
Here Freedom cradled; here its pæan burst
Upon the ears of nations, near and far
Till Light of Freedom is the Guiding Star
Thruout the world; though Thraldom still obscures
The Guiding Star where Tyranny endures.
'Twas ever thus till Boston's "Reb" array
Upset King George's teapot in the Bay,
And Pegasus, whom we Revere, astride
His high-bred hobby, warned the countryside.
Before that time the Briton played the game
Of _pour la tea_ or Golf (its proper name).
With confidence and brassie nerve, methinks,
Until they struck a Bunker on our links
That thwarted all their prowess--'pon my soul!
And left them groggy at the nineteenth hole.
But still they puttered 'round and drank our rum
Till Washington's avenging time had come;
When, with his army, steeled at Valley Forge,
He, George the First, uncrowned the other George,
And all the "red-breasts," from our eyries shooed
Where now the Bird of Freedom guards his brood.

THE SERVICE STAR

The stars are agleam in their azurine field,
Diffusing effulgence afar;
But magnitude, lustre and fixedness yield
To the glorious Service Star.

In aureate setting, a pendant aglare,
Is the radiant Service Star;
That blazes with fire like a rare solitaire,
A gift to the Valkyr of War.

Protect thou our treasure, O, Valkyr! Restore
Our Jewel so priceless! and bar
From Valhalla's Dungeons, where Death's torrents pour,
Our sanctified Service Star!

SOME DAY

Some day when the war is ended
And we sail from France away,
With sorrow and longings blended,
Back home to America;
And we live once more in Blighty
A thousand years in a day,
In the Land of God Almighty
Where the Old Folks watch and pray:
Some day, when we hit the pillow
Again on a box-spring bed,
As snug as an armadillo
With his shell-protected head;
When bugles refrain from tooting,
And noises of battle stop;
When victory ends recruiting,
Or charging Over the Top:
_Some_ day! when we're thru with fighting
And the beaten Hun retreats;
When the Cooties cease from biting
And we sleep between the sheets!

THE CRUISE OF THE SEA SERPENT

And now behold the Merchant Submarine!
Only its peeking periscope is seen,
But what a cyclorama it reveals
To those below! Thru surging seas it steals
And vies with dolphins, porpoises and sharks
To keep apace with brigantines and barks;
And, tho itself unseen, it's proud to show
To what low depths a submarine can go.
The Cyclops sees as well by night as day;
Its father, Neptune, gives it right of way:
Amphibious, it rides the Ocean's crest,
Or in its sunken Gardens takes its rest.
This new-type boat we designate as It
Because no other pronoun seems to fit.
No water-laden craft could be a He,
Nor one unspoken could be rated She.
The Germans call it _unter_: O. U. Cargo!
They aim to close the bar on the embargo.
Beneath the waves no lurching doth it feel
But speeds its course upon an even keel.
With duplex engines and a double crew,
(It's "manned" by mermaids when it's hid from view).
It scoffs at dangers, tho they lurk around,
And shuts its _eye_ to perils that abound.
There's scant spare space, but still its ribs enfold
A priceless cargo in its shallow hold.
Past hostile ships into a neutral haven,
It comes up smiling with all flags a wavin'.

But now these "Cargo Craft" throw off disguise
And cut our neutral throats: it's no surprise
That dastards, who as "scraps of paper" rate
Their solemn Treaties, would thus lie in wait
And murder innocents without emotion,
Making a shambles of the outraged Ocean.
Now lashed to fury, see the waves rebel
And sweep these Prussian Pirates down to Hell!
No longer neutral the Avenging Sword
Is in our hands to smite the Hun-hound horde.
The God of Joshua, in righteous wrath
Will, in its flight thru empyrean path,
Command the Sun to stop: it is His will!
Till _Kultur_ be effaced--and not until.

AMERICA

America, Crusader in the Cause
Of Liberty, before thy shrine we pause
And offer grateful prayer that thou art Right
In making demonstration of thy Might.
Without a thought of Conquest doth thou draw
Thine honored sword for Liberty and Law,
That Nations of a common tongue, tho weak,
May gain the Peace with Freedom that they seek;
And occupy again, when battles cease,
Their places in the Firmament of Peace.
Fight on! Defender of the Cause! till Truth
Shall banish Tyranny and Wars forsooth,
And throttle _Kultur_ and its godless School,
Till Teutons, purged, obey the Golden Rule!

LIFE AND LOVE

Life is the Echo of the Buried Past;
A Soul reclaimed, an Atom born anew:
Its fire burns on, tho flickering at the last,
And finds its grand fulfillment, Love, in you.

LIFE IN DEATH

Why should we dread the Messenger of Death?
Who comes as friend when sufferings beset,
And gives surcease of pain with final breath
So that Life leaves, rejoiced, without regret.

GERMANY

O, Hun, from what low beast didst thou descend?
That thou shouldst have the lust to kill and rend;
The bestial passion to enjoy the groans
Of suffering victims, while you crunch their bones
Or gouge their eyes, that mutely plead in vain
For quick oblivion and ease from pain?
Of ponderous cast and savage mien, what teat,
With Hatred filled and Passion's fiery heat,
Reared thee more wolf than man? ill-bred,--a curse
To thine own kind, and to the Universe!

ITALY

Italians, hold! Rienzi pleads again
Against the Tyrants: hold if ye be men!
Let not the foe despoil your fertile lands
Or wrest historic treasures from your hands!
Guard well your daughters! Shield your budding sons!
Lest they be maimed or murdered by the Huns.
Soldiers of Italy, would ye be slaves
To Teuton hordes? Behold the sacred graves
Of Garibaldi and your martyred dead
Who made ye Freemen! Wouldst be slaves instead?
The Alpine Passes that were yours are lost;
Your Northern Rivers have been reached and crossed;
Hold, Romans, hold! Halt further Teuton gains,
And drive their looting legions from your plains!
Hold! Men of Italy! Your wall of steel
Can save fair Venice from the Despot's heel:
Hold! Every man! for Honor, Country, Home--
And for the Glory of Eternal Rome!

MARY IS MERRY NO MORE

The Lamb that accompanied Mary
Without aid of cudgel or rope,
Was raised by her sire Elder Berry,
And washed with dioxygen soap.

Its fleece, like the linen-spread table,
Was snow-white: the lambkin was prized
And kept from the sheep in the stable
Who never were deodorized.

The lamb had a yearning for knowledge,
And schoolward would follow the lass
Till she was admitted to college,
A graduate out of his class.

Then sheep-eyes were made by the teacher,
And Mary was quick to decide
'Twixt him and the poor, woolly creature
Who made lambentations and died.

She married her Teacher,--a lesson!
Dyspeptic and old, he's a fright!
Her thoughts fail of fitting expression,
So she lams her own kids just for spite.
She looks at her spouse with deep loathing,
And sighs for her dead quadruped,
And wishes the "wolf in sheep's clothing"--

Her husband, were dead in his stead.
Alas, lass! You've forded the ferry;
Your tombstone was graven for two;
The lamb, chiseled there, stands for Mary,
And the _Old English_ MARY for yew.
The lamb reached the end of his tether
When Mary ascended on High,
But surely, in spite of the wether,
They'll meet in the Sweet Bye-and-Bye.