<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="" class="head">PART II</h1><h1 align="" class="head">i</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">WHAT Chalybes</p><p class="line">Are these?</p><p class="line">A million fires, a million furnaces</p><p class="line">Flicker and flare.</p><p class="line">The maw of Earth disgorges</p><p class="line">Fuel for mighty forges;</p><p class="line">Antediluvian trees</p><p class="line">From Carboniferous bogs</p><p class="line">Sublimed to fiery fogs,</p><p class="line">Pollute the golden air.</p><p class="line">The flames upleap and flash,</p><p class="line">The hammers swing and crash,</p><p class="line">What Chalybes</p><p class="line">Are these?</p><p class="line">What are they forging there?</p></div><h1 align="" class="head">ii</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The fiery chimneys belch Fear's mordant breath.</p><p class="line">The noisy forges beat the tune of Death.</p><p class="line">Hate swings his hammer on the trenchant steel.</p><p class="line">Untiringly with bony bloody heel,</p><p class="line">Death works the bellows: at macabre looms,</p><p class="line">Despair and Wrath are weaving tragic dooms;</p><p class="line">And all men's art,</p><p class="line">Wisdom and skill,</p><p class="line">Courage of heart,</p><p class="line">And force of will,</p><p class="line">Their love of good, their faith in God,</p><p class="line">Their power to crave, and to abhor,</p><p class="line">Are grown to crank and piston-rod,</p><p class="line">In the grim red machine of war.</p></div><h1 align="" class="head">iii</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Like belt, and wheel, and blade and shaft,</p><p class="line">They ply a dull mechanic craft;</p><p class="line">Their hearts beat in the hammer blow,</p><p class="line">And with the roaring furnace draught</p><p class="line">Their breathings and their sighings go.</p><p class="line">Outside are wings and summer winds,</p><p class="line">And sunlight dancing on the sea,</p><p class="line">And woods, and hills, but they are blind</p><p class="line">With hate and fear, and cannot see.</p><p class="line">Outside is singing and a thrush</p><p class="line">Calls through the lilac to its mate;</p><p class="line">They only hear the roar and rush</p><p class="line">Of the insensate wheels of Fate.</p><p class="line">With bodies weary, souls outworn,</p><p class="line">They watch the wondrous years go by.</p><p class="line">Toiling that Freedom may be born,</p><p class="line">Turned into dead machines they die.</p></div><h1 align="" class="head">iv</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And who are these</p><p class="line">Who march amain</p><p class="line">From Cossack steppe, and Belgian plain,</p><p class="line">From heathlands of the Hebrides,</p><p class="line">And lily gardens of Touraine,</p><p class="line">From little happy villages,</p><p class="line">Mid Roman roses, Saxon vines,</p><p class="line">From minarets and palaces,</p><p class="line">By Delhi palms, and Danube pines.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">These are the cohorts Fate has hurled</p><p class="line">Armed with a sword, a soul, a dream--</p><p class="line">These are the warriors Fate has hurled</p><p class="line">To slaughter and redeem</p><p class="line">The world.</p><p class="line">These are the fierce primæval fires,</p><p class="line">Of God's desires--</p><p class="line">His furnace flame, His breaker-surge,</p><p class="line">His graving tool, His pruning knife, His punitory scourge !</p></div><h1 align="" class="head">v</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Great slogans drive them forth, great battle-cries--</p><p class="line">"Liberty," "Fatherland!" The bounding blood</p><p class="line">In their own fearless hearts is as the flow</p><p class="line">Of an insurgent flood, and in their eyes</p><p class="line">The wild auroral lights of battle glow.</p><p class="line">Yea, and they know</p><p class="line">The gentle, low,</p><p class="line">Pleading, persuasive voices of the dead,</p><p class="line">The far forlorn</p><p class="line">Sweet baby-whispers of the yet unborn.</p><p class="line">By all these are they called, and lured, and led,</p><p class="line">And overhead,</p><p class="line">Unsoiled, untorn,</p><p class="line">As their dreams golden, as their passions red,</p><p class="line">Flutter the broidered banners of the Morn.</p></div><h1 align="" class="head">vi</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">As in a dream I watch them go,</p><p class="line">From Seine to Aisne,</p><p class="line">From Mons to Meaux;</p><p class="line">I see them in a blazing hell</p><p class="line">Of poison-gas, and shot, and shell,</p><p class="line">At Vimy Ridge, and La Boiselle,</p><p class="line">At Pozières and Neuve Chapelle,</p><p class="line">At Ypres, and Fler, and Le Cateau;</p><p class="line">I see them march by Meuse and Marne</p><p class="line">Trudging along through mud and clay;</p><p class="line">I see them camp in field and barn,</p><p class="line">In stable and estaminet.</p><p class="line">I see them on the Anzac beach,</p><p class="line">On Balkan hill, on Tigris sand,</p><p class="line">Armies of divers creed and speech,</p><p class="line">Each with destruction in its hand,</p><p class="line">Each true and brave,</p><p class="line">Dying to save</p><p class="line">The Honour of its Fatherland.</p></div><h1 align="" class="head">vii</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">O eyes with dauntless courage lit</p><p class="line">Enamoured of the fierce Unknown</p><p class="line">Where dreams of splendid glory flit,</p><p class="line">And bugle-calls are blown!</p><p class="line">White limbs so lithe</p><p class="line">Red hearts so blithe,</p><p class="line">Bright souls so true,</p><p class="line">The sword will harvest like a scythe</p><p class="line">Long bloody swathes of you!</p></div></body></html> · Great War