Read Ebook: Gutenberg and the Art of Printing by Pearson Emily C Emily Clemens

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Ebook has 61 lines and 2923 words, and 2 pages

Beneath me lies the sleeping countryside Hazy and dim, And here and there a little gleam, Like stars upon the heavens wide, Speaks of some wretch who cannot dream-- But on his bed all night must toss And hear me as I pass across, In droning flight above the countryside, Hazy, and huge, and dim.

And in the great blue night I ever rise Towards the stars, As to the hostile lands I sail High in the dark and cloudless skies Whose gloom our gloomy wings doth veil. Beneath, a scarce-seen ribbon shows Where through the woods a river flows, As in the shadowy night I ever rise Towards the scattered stars.

Now high above War's frontiers do I sit-- Above the lines. Great lights, like flowers, rise and fall: On either side red flashes spit Hot death at those poor souls which crawl On secret errands. O, how grim Must be that midnight slaughter dim! And happy am I that so high I sit Above those cruel lines!

Each man beneath me now detests my race With iron hate. Each tiny light I see must shine Upon some grim, unfriendly face, Who curses England's name and mine, And would be glad if both were gone-- But steadily must I fly on, Though every soul beneath me loathes my race With stern, unceasing hate.

I see a far-flung City all ablaze With jewelled lamps: I trace its quays, its roads, its squares, And all its intermingled ways, And, as I wonder how it dares To flaunt itself,--the City dies, And in an utter darkness lies, For I have terrified that town ablaze With twinkling, jewelled lamps.

But, see!--the furnace with its ruddy breath Which I must wreck! The searchlights sweep across the sky-- Long-fingered ministers of Death-- I look deep in their cold blue eye, Incessant shells with blinding light Show every wire, clear and white! There is the furnace with its ruddy breath Which I must wreck;--

It lies beneath--my time has come at last To do my work! I wait--O! will you never stop Your fearful shells, that burst so fast?-- And then--I hear destruction drop Behind my back as I release Such fearful death with such great ease. Burst on, you shells! My time has come at last To do my deadly work.

Then do I turn, and hurry swiftly back Towards my home. I gladly leave that place behind! No more I hear the shrapnel's crack-- No more my eyes the searchlights blind. I cross the lines with lightening breast And sail into the friendly West. How glad am I to hurry swiftly back Towards my peaceful home!

I reach the field--and then I softly land. My work is o'er! I leave my hot and panting steed, And clasp a comrade's outstretched hand, And with him to my bedroom speed. Then, over steaming beakers set, The night's fierce menace soon forget. How great a welcome waits me when I land-- When all my work is o'er!

But ere I search shy sleep on my white bed I greet the dawn, And think, with heart weighed down with grief, How cruel this dawn to those whose dead Lie shattered, torn--whom, like a thief At darkest midnight, I have slain. Poor, unknown victims!--real my pain! What widows, orphans, sweethearts see their dead This cruel, hopeless dawn?

The long and tedious months move slowly by And February's chill has fled away Before the gales of March, and now e'en they Have died upon the peaceful April sky:

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