THE VICTORY.
[For J.B., with the author's affectionate pride.]
HINDENBURG TO MACKENSEN.
Dear MAC, in that prodigious thrust
In which your valiant legions vie
With HANNIBAL'S renown, I trust
You go a shade more strong than I;
Lately I've lost a lot of scalps,
Which is a dem'd unpleasant thing;
You may enjoy the Julian Alps—
I do not like this JULIAN BYNG.
I find him full of crafty pranks:
Without the usual warning fire
He loosed his beastly rows of tanks
And sent 'em wallowing through my wire;
For days and days he kept the lid
Hard down upon his low designs,
Then simply walked across and did
Just what he liked with all my lines.
The fellow doesn't keep the rules;
Experts (I'm one myself) advise
That in trench-warfare even fools
Cannot be taken by surprise;
It isn't done; and yet he came
With never a previous "Are you there?"
And caught me—this is not the game—
Bending my thoughtful gaze elsewhere.
Later.—My route is toward the rear.
Where I shall stand and stop the rot
Lord only knows; and now I hear
Your forward pace is none too hot;
Indeed, with BYNG upon the burst,
If at this rate I make for home,
I doubt not who will get there first,
I to the Rhine, or you to Rome.
O.S.