_She rode a steed of the sea-foam breed, All faery was her blade, And the armour on her tender limbs Was of the moonshine made._ By God that sends the master-maids, I know not whence she came, But the sword she bore to save the soul Went up like an altar flame Where a broken race in a desert place Call on the Holy Name. _We strained our eyes in the dim day-rise, We could not see them plain; But two dead men from Valmy fen Rode at her bridle-rein._ I hear them all, my fathers call, I see them how they ride, And where had been that rout obscene Was an army straight with pride. A hundred thousand marching men, Of squadrons twenty score, And after them all the guns, the guns, But she went on before. _Her face was like a king’s command When all the swords are drawn. She stretched her arms and smiled at us, Her head was higher than the hills. She led us to the endless plains. We lost her in the dawn._ A BIVOUAC I You came without a human sound, You came and brought my soul to me; I only woke, and all around They slumbered on the firelit ground, Beside the guns in Burgundy. II I felt the gesture of your hands, You signed my forehead with the Cross; The gesture of your holy hands Was bounteous--like the misty lands Along the Hills in Calvados. III But when I slept I saw your eyes, Hungry as death, and very far. I saw demand in your dim eyes Mysterious as the moons that rise At midnight, in the Pines of Var. TO THE BALLIOL MEN STILL IN AFRICA Years ago when I was at Balliol, Balliol men--and I was one-- Swam together in winter rivers, Wrestled together under the sun. And still in the heart of us, Balliol, Balliol, Loved already, but hardly known, Welded us each of us into the others: Called a levy and chose her own. Here is a House that armours a man With the eyes of a boy and the heart of a ranger, And a laughing way in the teeth of the world And a holy hunger and thirst for danger: Balliol made me, Balliol fed me, Whatever I had she gave me again: And the best of Balliol loved and led me. God be with you, Balliol men. I have said it before, and I say it again, There was treason done, and a false word spoken, And England under the dregs of men, And bribes about, and a treaty broken: But angry, lonely, hating it still, I wished to be there in spite of the wrong. My heart was heavy for Cumnor Hill And the hammer of galloping all day long. Galloping outward into the weather, Hands a-ready and battle in all: Words together and wine together And song together in Balliol Hall. Rare and single! Noble and few!... Oh! they have wasted you over the sea! The only brothers ever I knew, The men that laughed and quarrelled with me.