For four long years on daemon malice bent,

To shake a world, and burn a continent,

See the mad Goth each impious boast recall,

And start in terror at his coming fall!

How late the day, when big with martial pride,

The rav’ning beast a peaceful earth defy’d;

Sure of his skill, contemptuous of his foe,

Inspir’d by counsel from the pit below,

By laws unhinder’d, and by rights uncheck’d,

With slaves to fight, and madmen to direct;

The savage, thirsty for accustom’d gore,

Burst from his lair as many a time before.

So swarm’d his Cimbrian fathers on the plain

Where Marius only could their force restrain;

So Ariovistus, merciless and bold,

Spread havoc till by Caesar’s might controll’d;

So the curs’d Alaric a mournful fate

Brought on the weak declining Roman state:

So in each age the German wolf we find,

The spoiler, scourge, and terror of mankind.

In evil pomp dark Wilhelm’s form discern,

Resolv’d the weak’ning nations to o’erturn;

Close by his side his chinless Princeling sits,

As rich in arrogance as poor in wits:

Around the two a herd obsequious throng,

Flaterers in folly, counsellors in wrong;

Agreed on crime, the knavish train essay

To wake the horrors of a former day.

O’er Belgian ground the noisome rabble spread,

Murder and arson in their hated tread;

Gallia’s fair meads the bestial presence feel,

And helpless children know the wanton steel:

Steeples and tow’rs, mute suppliants to the sky,

For sport are levell’d as the fiends march by;

Heavens and sea unwonted evil bear,

And anguish’d earth bewails her thick’ning care;

Meanwhile the suff’rers, brave thro’ all their woes,

In Saxon valour ev’ry hope repose:

A Roman pow’r in British blood perceive,

The strong to crush, the humble to relieve:

Britannia hears the call, and proudly wields

Her arms, victorious on a thousand fields;

New Marlboroughs rise, and o’er the troubled main

Pour the stout heirs of many a bright campaign.

Thus, as of old, we see our valiant line

A planet’s saviour, and a force divine.

The Goth, incens’d, delivers blow for blow,

In Justice conscious of an ancient foe;

Preserves his boldness as his elders tell

How Varus perish’d, and how Cassius fell:

Plots and intrigues an evil aid afford,

And treachery upholds the German sword.

And stretches threat’ning to the mystic East;

Wild Scythian wastes endure the anarch flame,

And barb’rous regions ring with Wilhelm’s name.

Thus Europe trembles till from Western shores

The crowning gift of English freedom pours;

Columbia, potent in her Saxon pride,

Beholds and seeks her lab’ring mother’s side:

On ev’ry wave Columbian barques appear,

And Freedom watches with returning cheer.

The Goth, unheeding, plans continued wrong,

And ruthless drags his brutish horde along,

When swift and sudden in his wild advance

He meets and feels an unfamiliar lance.

Yet unbelieving, stolid to the last,

He scorns the foe, and strives to struggle past;

But as he strives, he finds his legions led

In paths strategic rather than ahead;

Unnumber’d vict’ries may his voice proclaim,

Yet each one takes him back from whence he came!

O Glorious Fortune! with triumphal notes

O’er Saint Mihiel the conquering German gloats;

Yet strange to say, he gains his just renown

For giving up, not capturing, the town!

And now o’er all th’ ensanguin’d field of Mars

Floats the new banner with its stripes and stars.

Unending cohorts crowd the plains around,

And Gallia smiles for her recover’d ground.

The baffled savage, burning as he flees,

Turns pale, and shivers for his native leas;

Dreads the sure day when Saxon steel shall shine

Beyond the waters of his sacred Rhine:

He knows his doom—what Caesar did before,

Foch, Haig, and Pershing can effect once more!

How can I sing, without Ovidian skill,

The metamorphos’d Goth in time of ill?

That sov’reign, who for nations lately sigh’d,

Whines for his stricken land, and chokes his pride;

No more he flings his challenge to the air,

But begs th’ indignant foe his race to spare;

The injur’d, peaceful monarch fain would know

Why the cold world dislikes his people so!

“Let us have Peace!” To Heav’n resounds the plea

From lips defil’d with all iniquity,

“Let us converse,” (those chasten’d lips implore)

“And seek our weary’d countries to restore.”

The gen’rous beast a blood-stain’d paw extends,

And as a peer, permits us to be friends!

Yet sad to say, our cynic thought adheres

To certain trifles of preceding years;

Belgium, despoil’d, a moment claims our mind,

And scraps of paper leave their doubts behind;

Mem’ry, if stretch’d, at times can ev’n include

Some ocean pastimes which at least were rude.

In short, we feel that sev’ral things prevent

A barter’d peace, and equal settlement!

Victorious Foch! in whose rare soul unite

Great Churchill’s valour, and Eugenio’s might;

Whose art with pride Napoleon’s self could scan,

Well pleas’d to own thee of his Gallic clan:

‘Tis thine the terms of lasting peace to draw

With shot and steel—Germania’s chosen law.

‘Tis thine with conqu’ring sword to fix the fate

Of guilty princes and an outlaw’d state!

In thy bold ranks the sons of ev’ry land

Soar to new glories at thy wise command;

Thou guid’st the mighty Briton, proud and free,

And vast Columbia owns a chief in thee;

The Nervian hero ‘neath thy banner toils

To rob th’ invader of his precious spoils,

Whilst Italy, that once the Gaul o’erthrew,

Strives, ‘neath a Gaul, her lustre to renew!

The wolf is gaunt, his tatter’d ranks are thin,

And burden’d with a daemon load of sin;

On draws the hour when for each deed of shame

His land, accurst, must pay in death and flame.

Abroad Britannia checks him on the wave;

Approaching armies hollow out his grave;

Madden’d he sees his proud delusion o’er,

His ancient splendour to return no more.

What he shall be, his will can never guide,

For others now his future must decide:

Whipp’d, cow’d, degraded, he can only pray,

“Mercy! have mercy!—Freedom! I obey!”