MORT HOMME.
Wire was the first to give the name,
Ill-omened, to this mountain side ? On some dark winter's night he came, What dreams were his before he died!
What figures, awful, blood-imbrued,
Heroic, to his failing eyes, Peopled this peaceful solitude ?
He saw them and he heard their cries, The mist rose like a winding-sheet, As shadows in a shadow dance They moved. He heard the marching feet, The song of songs, the name of France.
And as he lay and prayed for light There echoed, where the river runs Through pasture-lands, the whole long night, The iron Clamour of the guns.
It may be when day broke at last
Ile watched the Angel Death draw near Among those others as they passed—
Not one man, but an army here.
And—" Ravaged earth, and shattered trees, And tragic river stained with red.
Dear Cod, have mercy on all these Who follow after me ! " he said.
Moray DALTON.
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