But the Delegates were started on the question of the War, (So as not to waste the speeches that they'd written out before). And the Council of Democracy--a thousand fluent tongues-- Let the Germans have it hearty from its Democratic lungs. Through the bursting of the shrapnel they were constant to the end,-- Kept referring to each other as "My honourable friend." And in groups of ten and twenty they were blasted into space By the disrespectful cannon of an Autocratic race, Till the gathering had dwindled to an incoherent few, Who were still explaining volubly what England ought to do, When the cannon ceased abruptly and they heard the Germans cheer, And a sergeant entered roaring, "Himmel, Ach! was Schmutz ist hier! Mask your faces, pig-dogs, quickly--all the room is full of gas. Vorwärts, Carl der Kindermörder--use your bayonet, Saxon ass!" Faithful to the last, the Chairman, spying strangers all around, Told them they were out of order; hardly seemed to touch the ground. Told them of his best intentions, how with love of them he burned, Shouted as the bayonet caught him, "Ow! the Council is adjourned!" RELEASED RELEASED. We are drifting back from the End of Hell to the home we long for so,-- Back from the land of fear and hate that jeers at wounded men; Maimed and crippled are we to-day, but free from curse or blow-- That we knew too well in the land of Cain, the guarded prisoners' den. We drift away to the homes we left a thousand years ago, And there we wait in the Truce of God for the hand of Death to fall, Waiting aside in hovel or hall--where only neighbours know-- The broken men that the War has left to shun the gaze of all. Is it nothing to you that pass us by--hurrying on your way, Whispering low of peace and rest to the tune of a German song? Only but for the Grace of God you might be where we lay-- With festering wounds in a truck for beasts, the butt of a laughing throng. Peace and Rest? The peace will come when God shall stay His hand, And change the heart of the German race that mocks at wounded men. The rest you seek? What need of that? you fight for a Christian land, And all Eternity waits for you--what need of rest till then? We are broken and down in the fight of the world for an end to heathen lust, But the sword we dropped when the darkness came is yours to handle yet. If you sheathe the sword for a greed of gold or suffer the steel to rust, The curse of the captive men be yours--the day when you forget--! REGULUS REGULUS. (Written after reading the story of that name in 'A Diversity of Creatures' by Kipling.)