Canadian Battlefields, and Other Poems

by J. R. Wilkinson

From tropic seas I pierced the veil where Arctic oceans roll,
By a thousand isles that gem the deep and flit from pole to pole,
And swift return by milder climes of rich perpetual bloom,
No more to look on that wild waste of mystery and gloom.

I saw the cattle on a thousand sloping emerald hills,
Heard the dream-songs of shepherds that through the distance thrills
The list’ning ear; and saw millions of tillers of the soil—
The support of kings, nations—earth’s suffering sons of toil,
A thousand cities glistened in the near and far away;
All domed and minaretted, by a thousand streams they lay.
I heard the din of commerce and the rush of countless feet,
And the cry of untold voices, and babel reigned complete;
And pomp and power were trampling the poor and weak ones down,
And kings looked on from palace halls with ne’er rebuke nor frown.

I saw giant nations flaunting diverse banners to the breeze,
All bristling o’er with armament, and frail thrones at their knees;
Lust of power was rampant, jars and threat’nings everywhere,
Deep mutterings of the rising storm fell across the air.
The seas were white with commerce, with the ships that o’er them sweep,
Watched by the navies of the world, vast guardians of the deep;
I heard the cry of Christian, and of ruthless Moslem bands
Flaunting their crescent banner with cruel bloodstained hands.

One flag I marked on every sea, in every clime and zone—
The meteor flag of Britain, proudly, defiantly outthrown.
It seemed to tower over all, bidding tyrants to beware,
Of the nation’s rights its bright folds guard to have a proper care.
There were mutterings and combinations adverse to Britain’s fame,
And from the horizon’s darkening rim burst shafts of ruddy flame.

But a couchant lion rose and shook his majestic, tawny mane,
And roared with a roar that shook the seas and braced his giant frame;
And the Empress of the Ocean stood on her seagirt shores
In the panoply of war, where her royal banner soars.
Serene and noble there she stood, in majesty and pride,
And beckoned, and millions of men uprose, and far and wide
Her dauntless ships moved out, and covered all the sea,
To guard the nation’s sacred cause and Christian liberty.

The German nation heard the call that echoed o’er the deep,
And her mighty heart was thrilled, and with one generous sweep
Hurled all differences to the four quarters of the wind,
And swiftly ranged by Britain’s side, as one in heart and mind.
And Italia’s answering cry rose up, regenerated, free,
As she joined the alliance with a shout for Christian unity.

The Austrian nation was moved as by a mighty throe,
And prepared to strike by Britain’s side the now advancing foe
Of Russ, and Gaul, and Moslem hordes converging for the fight
That is to shake the astonished world in horror and affright.

Converging to the gates of India in columns vast they come
To the martial blare of trumpets and roll of fife and drum,
The half a million horse—the van—in wild clangor clears the way
For three thousand frowning guns in formidable array,
With vast masses of infantry—six millions of the foe,
To deliver a vast attack, an irresistible blow;
To sweep Albion from the Ind, and the German power to break;
To win the Orient, even the world to dominate
For the passes of the Himalayas on and on they sweep,
Making the very earth to vibrate beneath their marching feet.

But hark! on the expectant and sharply startled ear
Bursts a fiercer blare of trumpets and a still more rousing cheer.
I turned my vision southward. Oh, welcome, glorious sight!
Five million men advancing in the glowing golden light
Of the sun of Ind, that fell athwart the grand array
Of Albion and her illustrious allies. And far away
I saw another army moving swiftly to the right
(As if detached from Albion’s hosts), and disappear from sight
In the foothills of the Himalayas—some deep strategy evolved
By Wolseley and Roberts, who war’s problems oft have solved.

Too late, the rushing foe the barring mountain passes gain,
And swift debouch in mighty mass and unfold along the plain.
An awful front is formed, reaching leagues and leagues away,
Deployed in seven battle lines in stupendous grim array,
With three thousand guns at intervals frowning there between
Vast corps of horse and infantry, such as the world hath ne’er seen.
Intermingled were strange devices to hurl storms of shot and shell,
Hot and furious as the deadly, insatiate maw of hell.
Bicycle corps with protecting shields flashed everywhere;
And balloons, like eagles, poised on high, borne along the air;
Swooping like eagles for their prey, searching the far and nigh,
They fearless rise above the clouds and soar along the sky.
Swiftly telegraph lines reach every part of the vast line,
Entrenched by corps of engineers skilful of design.
And central, in rear of that stupendous and waiting host,
The White Czar of all the Russias with his staff takes post.