Kitabı oku: «The Ballad of Ensign Joy», sayfa 5

 
And it didn't weaken the Line.
 
 
NOT a bad effort of yours,
my lad,"
The Major deigned to declare.
"My Sergeant's plan, Sir" —
"And that's not bad —
But you've lost that ribbon
you wear?"
"It – must have been eaten away
by the Gas!"
"Well – ribbons are ribbons —
but don't be an ass!
It's better to do than dare."
 
 
DARE! He has dared to de-
sert his post —
But he daren't acknowledge
his sin!
He has dared to face Wren with
a lying boast —
But Wren is not taken in.
None sings his praises so long
and loud —
With look so loving and loyal
and proud!
But the boy sees under his
skin.
 
 
DAILY and gaily he wrote to
his wife,
Who had dropped the beati-
fied droll
And was writing to him on the
Meaning of Life
And the Bonds between Body
and Soul.
Her courage was high – though
she mentioned its height;
She was putting upon her the
Armour of Light —
Including her aureole!
 
 
BUT never a helm had the lad
we know,
As he went on his nightly raids
With a brace of his Blighters, an
N. G O.
And a bagful of hand-grenades
And the way he rattled and
harried the Hun —
The deeds he did dare, and the
risks he would run —
Were the gossip of the Bri-
gades.
 
 
HOW he'd stand stockstill as
the trunk of a tree,
With his face tucked down
out of sight,
When a flare went up and the
other three
Fell prone in the frightening
light.
How the German sandbags, that
made them quake,
Were the only cover he cared to
take,
But he'd eavesdrop there all
night.
 
 
MACHINE-GUNS, tapping
a phrase in Morse,
Grew hot on a random quest,
And swarms of bullets buzzed
down the course
Like wasps from a trampled
nest.
Yet, that last night!
They had just set off
When he pitched on his face with
a smothered cough,
And a row of holes in his chest.
 
 
HE left a letter. It saved
the lives
Of the three who ran from the
Gas;
A small enclosure alone survives,
In Middlesex, under glass:
Only the ribbon that left his
breast
On the day he turned and ran
with the rest,
And lied with a lip of brass!
 
 
BUT the letters they wrote
about the boy,
From the Brigadier to the
men!
They would never forget dear
Mr. Joy,
Not look on his like again.
Ermyntrude read them with dry,
proud eye.
There was only one letter that
made her cry.
It was from Sergeant Wren:
 
 
THERE never was such a fear-
less man,
Or one so beloved as he.
He was always up to some daring
plan,
Or some treat for his men and
me.
There wasn't his match when he
went away;
But since he got back, there has
not been a day
But what he has earned a
V. C
 
 
A CYNICAL story? That's
not my view.
The years since he fell are
twain.
What were his chances of coming
through?
Which of his friends remain?