Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1917-06-13
And the pollu, standing at salute before

And the poilu, standing at salute before
us, said:
II found 1t over there. my captain
thought 1t might be the notes of n spy. All
the dirty Boches are spies, my captain"
We walked rapidly, we four men, the poilu
leading the way, wondering perhaps, We
covered the 400 yards in n few minutes,
through shell-cratered earth, past the dis
order of recent hand-to-hand fighting, past
new mounds covering men who saw yes
terday's twilight in health and vigor. As
we advanced the lieutenant said, There's
another poem"
wait" answered the captain.
Here" said the poilu. "The book lay
here, and the Boche is there"
We leaned over, standing ankle deep in
the brook, and pushed the underbrush
aside.
The dead man, simple soldier, half
lay, half sat, among 1t. His head was
upturned toward the sky, his helmet by
his side. His eyes were wide open; blue
eyes, blue as the heavens In summer, but
set as two pieces of glass. His lips were
slightly apart Upon them rested great,
green fly, the battlefield fly, the sluggish
death fly that comes with the spring and
goes only with the frost
The hair was reddish blonde and the
face smooth. The age was perhaps twenty
| five. The right hand rlgidly grasped the
buttons of n gray jacket, one being torn
| convulsively open. About II l saw coagu-
| lated blood. The left hand gripped the
earth, gripped it in a fair full handful as
| 1T had gripped 1t when death came. OF
| daylight there was but dying trace. And
the captain, in an impassioned voice, said;
| Read the other poem"
aye Serve the Antichrist"
quite against the regulations, he had
| flashed his pocket lamp in the open. Its
tiny bulb light struck full upon the page
| and shone on the visage Of the dead. We
| stood in something of veneration, uncov-
cred even to the poilu, who could not un-
| derstand.
| Yes, ye people Of mlnel with your cannon
Ee spread the light Of sSSien5Se. SCI S viii, your
S'' Yes. y6 people Of mine Without shame.
| without repentance, your armies sacrilege
in picty and reverence, by a people whose
sons defend with tho blood and sweat of
Yes, yo people Of mine Ye have assumed
at tho fountain OF truth and Learnt Then, ye
peoples Of mine, will ye throw at the foot Of
We who do thy work, we who do It
noranee, cry al! aloud; Learn arm 1t Is not God
"Have you translated Alright, Lieuten-
anti" asked the captain with culver in
the voice.
eyes, my Captain" And he read aloud
again the last two lines, slowly, in their
| herman Inylnb'
| Doch wir, i'm Finstern, irrend rufen wisst
| Ihr dent nicht Gott. ihr dent dem AntichristI
Who was this Boche with a conscience? I
thought. And as the Captain gave the
order that he be buried where he fell and
that his head be first wrapped in his gray
Jacket we went away. Who was this
Boche with a conscience? l thought again.
I am sure we all thought It, all three, as we
walked in silence, visibly moved,
Who was he, what was he, a dreamer, or
a rebel? In the early darkness of a soft
May night 1 asked again, and again 81.
lently
great poet lost TO Germany? A dreamer
or a rebel? How many among his invading
companions in arms against fair France
thought as he has written, cursed the crimes
they committed under orders?
Were they many? Or few2 Were they
the yeast of a great mass that would rise
slowly, understand slowly that would end
| by imposing understanding of honor over
science, of truth over falsehood, of right
over wrong, upon thou people of mine"i
Or were they but tiny handful whose
voices would ever be lost amid blind folly
living folly cen defeated, the arrogant
morbidity OF war-bred race, of a natior
inhuman deliberately unleashing evil upor
the earth, bringing sorrow TO millions OF
mothers, death TO millions of sons, desola.
tion to fair and beautiful lands?
But the Bullness of Time can answer
Not the mere victory to come, but the far
Fullness OF Time, when, deeply chastened
ana PROFOUNDLY purged, the people by the
the crimes inflicted by their eagled Hohen.
zollern legions.
, Time. Nothing but Time. Beyond vo,,r,
! and mine For the mills Of coA e,1ns
slowly" May they grind uusl W