Wessex Poems and Other Verses Part 6

He turned to pistol me. I sprang, and drew The sabre from his flank, And 'twixt his nape and shoulder, ere he knew, I struck, and dead he sank.

I hid him deep in nodding rye and oat - His shroud green stalks and loam; His requiem the corn-blade's husky note - And then I hastened home, . . .

- Two armies writhe in coils of red and blue, And bra.s.s and iron clang From Goumont, past the front of Waterloo, To Pap'lotte and Smohain.

The Guard Imperial wavered on the height; The Emperor's face grew glum; "I sent," he said, "to Grouchy yesternight, And yet he does not come!"

'Twas then, Good Father, that the French espied, Streaking the summer land, The men of Blucher. But the Emperor cried, "Grouchy is now at hand!"

And meanwhile Vand'leur, Vivian, Maitland, Kempt, Met d'Erlon, Friant, Ney; But Grouchy--mis-sent, blamed, yet blame-exempt - Grouchy was far away.

By even, slain or struck, Michel the strong, Bold Travers, Dnop, Delord, Smart Guyot, Reil-le, l'Heriter, Friant, Scattered that champaign o'er.

Fallen likewise wronged Duhesme, and skilled Lobau Did that red sunset see; Colbert, Legros, Blancard! . . . And of the foe Picton and Ponsonby;

With Gordon, Canning, Blackman, Ompteda, L'Estrange, Delancey, Packe, Grose, D'Oyly, Stables, Morice, Howard, Hay, Von Schwerin, Watzdorf, Boek,

Smith, Phelips, Fuller, Lind, and Battersby, And hosts of ranksmen round . . .

Memorials linger yet to speak to thee Of those that bit the ground!

The Guards' last column yielded; d.y.k.es of dead Lay between vale and ridge, As, thinned yet closing, faint yet fierce, they sped In packs to Genappe Bridge.

Safe was my stock; my capple cow unslain; Intact each c.o.c.k and hen; But Grouchy far at Wavre all day had lain, And thirty thousand men.

O Saints, had I but lost my earing corn And saved the cause once prized!

O Saints, why such false witness had I borne When late I'd sympathized! . . .

So now, being old, my children eye askance My slowly dwindling store, And crave my mite; till, worn with tarriance, I care for life no more.

To Almighty G.o.d henceforth I stand confessed, And Virgin-Saint Marie; O Michael, John, and Holy Ones in rest, Entreat the Lord for me!

THE ALARM (1803) See "The Trumpet-Major"

IN MEMORY OF ONE OF THE WRITER'S FAMILY WHO WAS A VOLUNTEER DURING THE WAR WITH NAPOLEON

In a ferny byway Near the great South-Wess.e.x Highway, A homestead raised its breakfast-smoke aloft; The dew-damps still lay steamless, for the sun had made no sky-way, And twilight cloaked the croft.

'Twas hard to realize on This snug side the mute horizon That beyond it hostile armaments might steer, Save from seeing in the porchway a fair woman weep with eyes on A harnessed Volunteer.

In haste he'd flown there To his comely wife alone there, While marching south hard by, to still her fears, For she soon would be a mother, and few messengers were known there In these campaigning years.

'Twas time to be Good-bying, Since the a.s.sembly-hour was nighing In royal George's town at six that morn; And betwixt its wharves and this retreat were ten good miles of hieing Ere ring of bugle-horn.

"I've laid in food, Dear, And broached the spiced and brewed, Dear; And if our July hope should antedate, Let the char-wench mount and gallop by the halterpath and wood, Dear, And fetch a.s.sistance straight.

"As for Buonaparte, forget him; He's not like to land! But let him, Those strike with aim who strike for wives and sons!

And the war-boats built to float him; 'twere but wanted to upset him A slat from Nelson's guns!

"But, to a.s.sure thee, And of creeping fears to cure thee, If he SHOULD be rumoured anchoring in the Road, Drive with the nurse to Kingsbere; and let nothing thence allure thee Till we've him safe-bestowed.

"Now, to turn to marching matters:- I've my knapsack, firelock, spatters, Crossbelts, priming-horn, stock, bay'net, blackball, clay, Pouch, magazine, flints, flint-box that at every quick-step clatters; . . . My heart, Dear; that must stay!"

--With breathings broken Farewell was kissed unspoken, And they parted there as morning stroked the panes; And the Volunteer went on, and turned, and twirled his glove for token, And took the coastward lanes.

When above He'th Hills he found him, He saw, on gazing round him, The Barrow-Beacon burning--burning low, As if, perhaps, uplighted ever since he'd homeward bound him; And it meant: Expect the Foe!

Leaving the byway, And following swift the highway, Car and chariot met he, faring fast inland; "He's anch.o.r.ed, Soldier!" shouted some: "G.o.d save thee, marching thy way, Th'lt front him on the strand!"

He slowed; he stopped; he paltered Awhile with self, and faltered, "Why courting misadventure sh.o.r.eward roam?

To Molly, surely! Seek the woods with her till times have altered; Charity favours home.

Else, my denying He would come she'll read as lying - Think the Barrow-Beacon must have met my eyes-- That my words were not unwareness, but deceit of her, while trying My life to jeopardize.

"At home is stocked provision, And to-night, without suspicion, We might bear it with us to a covert near; Such sin, to save a childing wife, would earn it Christ's remission, Though none forgive it here!"

While thus he, thinking, A little bird, quick drinking Among the crowfoot tufts the river bore, Was tangled in their stringy arms, and fluttered, well-nigh sinking, Near him, upon the moor.

He stepped in, reached, and seized it, And, preening, had released it But that a thought of Holy Writ occurred, And Signs Divine ere battle, till it seemed him Heaven had pleased it As guide to send the bird.

"O Lord, direct me! . . .

Doth Duty now expect me To march a-coast, or guard my weak ones near?

Give this bird a flight according, that I thence know to elect me The southward or the rear."

He loosed his clasp; when, rising, The bird--as if surmising - Bore due to southward, crossing by the Froom, And Durnover Great-Field and Fort, the soldier clear advising - Prompted he wist by Whom.

Then on he panted By grim Mai-Don, and slanted Up the steep Ridge-way, hearkening betwixt whiles; Till, nearing coast and harbour, he beheld the sh.o.r.e-line planted With Foot and Horse for miles.

Mistrusting not the omen, He gained the beach, where Yeomen, Militia, Fencibles, and Pikemen bold, With Regulars in thousands, were enma.s.sed to meet the Foemen, Whose fleet had not yet shoaled.

Captain and Colonel, Sere Generals, Ensigns vernal, Were there; of neighbour-natives, Michel, Smith, Meggs, Bingham, Gambier, Cunningham, roused by the hued nocturnal Swoop on their land and kith.

But Buonaparte still tarried; His project had miscarried; At the last hour, equipped for victory, The fleet had paused; his subtle combinations had been parried By British strategy.

Homeward returning Anon, no beacons burning, No alarms, the Volunteer, in modest bliss, Te Deum sang with wife and friends: "We praise Thee, Lord, discerning That Thou hast helped in this!"

HER DEATH AND AFTER

'Twas a death-bed summons, and forth I went By the way of the Western Wall, so drear On that winter night, and sought a gate - The home, by Fate, Of one I had long held dear.

And there, as I paused by her tenement, And the trees shed on me their rime and h.o.a.r, I thought of the man who had left her lone - Him who made her his own When I loved her, long before.