You all clasped hands upon it. You would break the British line, You would smash a road to westward with your host, The howitzers should thunder and the Uhlan lances shine Till Calais heard the blaring of the distant "Wacht am Rhein," As you topped the grassy uplands of the coast. Said the Graf von Feuer-Essen, "It's a fact beyond discussion, That man to man we can outfight the foe. There is valour in the French, there is patience in the Russian, But blend all war-like virtues and you get the lordly Prussian," And the bristle-headed murmured, "_Das ist so._" "And the British," cried another, "they are mercenary cattle, Without one noble impulse of the soul, Degenerate and drunken; if the dollars chink and rattle, 'Tis the only sort of music that will call them to the battle." And all the bristle-headed cried, "_Ja wohl!_" And so next day your battle rolled across the Menin Plain, Where Capper's men stood lonely to your wrath. You broke him, and you broke him, but you broke him all in vain, For he and his contemptibles kept closing up again, And the khaki bar was still across your path. And on the day when Gheluvelt lay smoking in the sun, When Von Deimling stormed so hotly in the van, You smiled as Haig reeled backwards and you thought him on the run, But, alas for dreams that vanish, for before the day was done It was you, my Lord of Würtemberg, that ran. A dreary day was that--but another came, more dreary, When the Guard from Arras led your fierce attacks, Spruce and splendid in the morning were the Potsdam Grenadiere, But not so spruce that evening when they staggered spent and weary, With those cursed British storming at their backs. You knew--your spies had told you--that the ranks were scant and thin, That the guns were short of shell and very few, By all Bernhardi's maxims you were surely bound to win, There's the open town before you. Haste, my Lord, and enter in, Or the War-Lord may have telegrams for you. Then came the rainy winter, when the price was ever dearer, Every time you neared the prize of which you dreamed, Each day the Belfry faced you but you never brought it nearer, Each night you saw it clearly but you never saw it clearer. Ah, what a weary time it must have seemed! At last there came the Easter when you loosed the coward gases, Surely you have got the rascals now! You could see them spent and choking as you watched them thro' your glasses, Yes, they choke, but never waver, and again the moment passes Without one leaf of laurel for your brow. Then at Hooge you had them helpless, for their guns were one to ten, And you blasted trench and traverse at your will, You had them dead and buried, but they still sprang up again. "_Donnerwetter!_" cried your Lordship, "_Donnerwetter!_" cried your men, For their very ghosts were guarding Ypres still.