<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">The First Battle of Ypres<a class="footnote" href="#cunliffe142n1" name="cunliffe142n1-link" xmlns:html="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40">1</a></h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">Grey</span> field of Flanders, grim old battle-plain,</p><p class="line">What armies held the iron line round Ypres in the rain,</p><p class="line">From Bixschoote to Baecelaere and down to the Lys river?</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Merry men of England,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Men of the green shires,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">From the winding waters,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">The elm-trees and the spires,</p><p class="line">And the lone village dreaming in the downland yonder.</p><p class="line">Half a million Huns broke over them in thunder,</p><p class="line">Roaring seas of Huns swept on and sunk again,</p><p class="line">Where fought the men of England round Ypres in the rain,</p><p class="line">On the grim plain of Flanders, whose earth is fed with slaughter.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">North-country fighting men from the mine and the loom,</p><p class="line">Highlander and lowlander stood up to death and doom,</p><p class="line">From Bixschoote to Baecelaere and down to the Lys river.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">London men and Irish,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Indian men and French,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Charging with the bayonet,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Firing in the trench,</p><p class="line">Fought in that furious fight, shoulder to shoulder.</p><p class="line">Leapt from their saddles to charge in fierce disorder,</p><p class="line">The Life Guards, mud and blood for the scarlet and the plume,</p><p class="line">And they hurled back the foemen as the wind the sea spume,</p><p class="line">From Bixschoote to Baecelaere and down to the Lys river.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">But the huge Hun masses yet mounted more and more,</p><p class="line">Like a giant wave gathering to whelm the sweet shore,</p><p class="line">While swift the exultant foam runs on before and over.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Where that foam was leaping,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">With bayonets, or with none,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">The cooks and the service men</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Ran upon the Hun.</p><p class="line">The cooks and the service men charged and charged together</p><p class="line">Moussy's cuirassiers, on foot, with spur and sabre;</p><p class="line">Helmed and shining fought they as warriors fought of yore --</p><p class="line">Till calm fell sinister as the hush at the whirlwind's core,</p><p class="line">From Bixschoote to Baecelaere and down to the Lys river.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Lo! the Emperor launched on us his guard of old renown,</p><p class="line">Stepping in parade-march, as they step through Berlin town,</p><p class="line">On the chill road to Gheluveldt, in the dark before the dawning.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Heavily tolled on them</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Mortal mouths of guns,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Gallantly, gallantly</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Came the flower of the Huns.</p><p class="line">Proud men they marched, like an avalanche on us falling,</p><p class="line">Prouder men they met, in the dark before the dawning.</p><p class="line">Seven to one they came against us to shatter us and drown,</p><p class="line">One to seven in the woodland we fought them up and down.</p><p class="line">In the sad November woodland, when all the skies were mourning.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The long battle thundered till a waxing moon might wane,</p><p class="line">Thrice they broke the exhausted line that held them on the plain,</p><p class="line">And thrice like billows they went back, from viewless bounds retiring.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Why paused they and went backward,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">With never a foe before</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Like a long wave dragging</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Down a level shore</p><p class="line">Its fierce reluctant surges, that came triumphant storming</p><p class="line">The land, and powers invisible drive to its deep returning?</p><p class="line">On the grey field of Flanders again and yet again</p><p class="line">The Huns beheld the Great Reserves on the old battle-plain,</p><p class="line">The blood-red field of Flanders, where all the skies were mourning.</p><p class="line">The fury of their marshalled guns might plough no dreadful lane</p><p class="line">Through those Reserves that waited in the ambush of the rain,</p><p class="line">On the riven plain of Flanders, where hills of men lay moaning.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">They hurled upon an army</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">The bellowing heart of Hell,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">We saw but the meadows</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Torn with their shot and shell.</p><p class="line">We heard not the march of the succours that were coming,</p><p class="line">Their old forgotten bugle-calls, the fifes and the drumming,</p><p class="line">But they gathered and they gathered from the graves where they had lain</p><p class="line">A hundred years, hundreds of years, on the old battle-plain,</p><p class="line">And the young graves of Flanders, all fresh with dews of mourning.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Marlborough's men and Wellington's, the burghers of Courtrai,</p><p class="line">The warriors of Plantagenet, King Louis' <em>Gants glacés</em> --</p><p class="line">And the young, young dead from Mons and the Marne river.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Old heroic fighting men,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Who fought for chivalry,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Men who died for England,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:14%">Mother of Liberty.</p><p class="line">In the world's dim heart, where the waiting spirits slumber,</p><p class="line">Sounded a roar when the walls were rent asunder</p><p class="line">That parted Earth from Hell, and summoning them away,</p><p class="line">Tremendous trumpets blew, as at the Judgment Day --</p><p class="line">And the dead came forth, each to his former banner.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">On the grim field of Flanders, the old battle plain,</p><p class="line">Their armies held the iron line round Ypres in the rain,</p><p class="line">From Bixschoote to Baecelaere and down to the Lys river.</p></div><p class="byline">-- Margaret L. Woods.</p></body></html> · Great War