Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew
From the nation’s airy navies grappling in the central blue;
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thunder-storm;
Till the war drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were furled
In the Parliament of Man, the Federation of the World.
Dealing not with the shadowy future but with the actual present the great Artist of the Great War sees aerial navigation, not in terms of commerce nor of battle engines, but as the “Eyes of the Army”; the sense without which the terrestrial movements of war, both by land and sea, tend to become mere blind and purposeless blundering. With one graceful figure in a finely balanced design the artist tells the story.
Future generations will be grateful to the Prussians for one thing—and one thing only. From war—that “noble art of murdering,” as Thackeray called it, they have stripped the last vestiges of romantic glamor. They have not hesitated to press the premises of militarism to their logical conclusion,—with results that have staggered humanity.
In one field only has it been possible for something of the old knightly chivalry to linger. Romance, driven from earth, has taken wings; and the world, sated with horrors of trench and shambles, thrills with eager wonder at the new science of the sky; at the individual skill and daring of its pilots and their wonderful service to their fighting brethren on earth.
But even as we read of these things come tales of Zeppelin raids over defenseless cities and the deliberate dropping of bombs upon hospitals.