This is the ballad of Langemarck, A story of glory and might; Of the vast Hun horde, and Canada's part In the great, grim fight. _Wilfred Campbell_ CANADIANS With arrows on their quarters and with numbers on their hoofs, With the trampling sound of twenty that re-echoes in the roofs, Low of crest and dull of coat, wan and wild of eye, Through our English village the Canadians go by. Shying at a passing cart, swerving from a car, Tossing up an anxious head to flaunt a snowy star, Racking at a Yankee gait, reaching at the rein, Twenty raw Canadians are tasting life again! Hollow-necked and hollow-flanked, lean of rib and hip, Strained and sick and weary with the wallow of the ship, Glad to smell the turf again, hear the robin's call, Tread again the country road they lost at Montreal! Fate may bring them dule and woe; better steeds than they Sleep beside the English guns a hundred leagues away; But till war hath need of them, lightly lie their reins, Softly fall the feet of them along the English lanes. _Will H. Ogilvie_ THE KAISER AND BELGIUM He said: "Thou petty people, let me pass. What canst thou do but bow to me and kneel?" But sudden a dry land caught fire like grass, And answer hurtled but from shell and steel. He looked for silence, but a thunder came Upon him, from Liège a leaden hail. All Belgium flew up at his throat in flame Till at her gates amazed his legions quail. Take heed, for now on haunted ground they tread; There bowed a mightier war lord to his fall: Fear! lest that very green grass again grow red With blood of German now as then with Gaul. If him whom God destroys He maddens first, Then thy destruction slake thy madman's thirst. _Stephen Phillips_ THE BATTLE OF LIÈGE Now spake the Emperor to all his shining battle forces, To the Lancers, and the Rifles, to the Gunners and the Horses;-- And his pride surged up within him as he saw their banners stream!-- "'T is a twelve-day march to Paris, by the road our fathers travelled, And the prize is half an empire when the scarlet road's unravelled-- Go you now across the border, God's decree and William's order-- Climb the frowning Belgian ridges With your naked swords agleam! Seize the City of the Bridges-- Then get on, get on to Paris-- To the jewelled streets of Paris-- To the lovely woman, Paris, that has driven me to dream!" A hundred thousand fighting men They climbed the frowning ridges, With their flaming swords drawn free And their pennants at their knee. They went up to their desire, To the City of the Bridges, With their naked brands outdrawn Like the lances of the dawn! In a swelling surf of fire, Crawling higher--higher--higher-- Till they crumpled up and died Like a sudden wasted tide, And the thunder in their faces beat them down and flung them wide!