Over the valley that seemed so still,
Where the blackbird whistled his love-notes shrill
I gazed, and all against my will
I saw a vision beneath the hill.
Centuries passed like a mist away
And I stood in the glare of a burning day
Whilst the church-bells clamoured a call to pray.
War and its brother raced hand in hand,
That brother called Death; and they seared the land
With their fiery breath and the murder brand.
And copses and dales were bleeding red,
Naught was sacred, the living or dead,
The old, old man, or the girl just wed.
Men stormed the homestead, blazed the corn,
Pillaged and sacked from night till morn,
And spitted the babe that was newly born.
Savage and brutal, like hell-hounds freed,
They swarmed the hill, debauched with greed—
Some slunk behind, their lust to feed.
At last, when the streams ran human blood,
Soaking the fields in a scarlet flood,
A woman prayed with her child for food.
All on their way those soldiers passed
With a fœtid jest at her hapless fast,
And some men cut her down at last.
They cut her down! Oh, woe is me,
And they left her to rot in her misery,
Naked and scorned for the world to see.
They left her bare in the cold night air,
Save only the comb in her coal-black hair,
And they strangled the baby, helpless there.