Page:Canadian poems of the great war.djvu/41

And every bullet sped to find a mark,
But man by man the little group fell dead.

Faces all palled, black with battle smoke;
Strong hands tight clutched in lust of battle flame;
And still the living islet never broke,
And still the hordes of dusky legions came.

The stars in solemn circles marched above,
And what a sight was this they stooped to see!
No mercy here, or pity sweet, or love,
But crashing death, and lust of victory!

Dawn lightened on the hills in cold gray streaks;
But few were there, indeed, who cheered the day:
And still the rush of battle, still the shrieks
As steel drove sternly home the Saxon way.

A soldier paused in all the din of strife
And drew a banner from his heaving breast;
He fixed it to a staff, and newer life
Came with that sign and strengthened all the rest.

And ever burned the flag above the fray;
And all about the ring of heroes stood;
And all about a dreadful rampart lay
Wounded and dead in sodden pools of blood.

Few stood, and fewer still; and at the last
None stood to check the rush of dusky foes;
But ere one alien foot the circle passed,
A dying lad, a slender youth arose

He rose and cast a look of pride and scorn,
And from the shattered staff the flag he drew
The scarlet emblem, bloody, smoke-grimed, torn,
And, on the smouldering watchfire embers, threw;

He swayed and fell, the flag sent up a smoke
Of incense to the memory of the brave
The memory of the post that never broke,
The post that fills one great forgotten grave.