Who Goes There!

The Belgian lieutenant had already recognized the uniform of the Guides; so had the other cavalrymen; and now they were hastily dismounting and leading their horses forward.

"Karen," said Guild unsteadily, "it's my own regiment!" And he stepped forward and took the lieutenant's hands in both of his. His features were working; he could not speak, but the troopers seemed to understand.

They gave Karen a horse; Guild lifted her to the saddle, shortened the stirrup, and set her sideways.

They offered him another horse, but he shook his head, flung one arm over Karen's saddle and walked on slowly beside her stirrup.

Behind them the clatter of retreating hoofs marked the return of the Uhlans. From somewhere in the darkness a farm cart rumbled up and cavalrymen lifted in their luggage.

Now, under the clustered planets the cart and the troopers moved off over a wide, smooth road across the plain.

And last of all came Karen with Guild on foot beside her.

Her horse stepped slowly, cautiously; her slim hand lay on her lover's shoulder, his arm was around her, and his cheek rested against her knees.

All the world was before them now, with all that it can ever hold for the sons of men – the eternal trinity, inexorable, unchangeable – Death, and Life, and Love.

CHAPTER XXVI

AMICUS DEI

I

Through the April meadows ambling
Where the new born lambs are gamb'ling
Cometh May and vanisheth; —
Cometh lovely June a-rambling; —
July follows out of breath
Scattering the playful swallows;
On her heels a Shepherd follows,
All dolled up like Old Man Death.

II

While he capers, pipes, and prances,
Meadows wither where he dances;
Suddenly the sunshine ends!
Shrinking from his grinning glances,
Every blossom wilts and bends.
Spectral forests rise and tower,
Bursting into crimson flower,
And an iron rain descends.

III

Shepherd, Shepherd, lithely whirling,
To your screaming pipes a-skirling,
Tell me why you blithely dance?
But the shrilling tempest, hurling
Shrivelled blossoms of Romance,
Answered: "Help! For Christ is dying!"
And I heard the pipes replying:
"Let the Friend of God advance!"

IV

Prince of the Vanguard, armed from head to heel,
And reassuring God amid your bayonets
Where the Imperial standard frets
And the sun sets
Across five million marching acolytes in steel,
Red looms a ruined world against the West,
Red lie its dead beneath your sombre crest,
And redly drips your sword
And the lances of your horde
Where all things died, the loveliest and best.
In this dead land there stirs no pulse, no breath,
For, where you ride, on your right hand rides Death.

V

God's ally, self-ordained to wield His rod,
Trampling His will into the heretics,
Leveling their shrines to heaps of bricks,
How the red stain sticks
To the ten million pair of boots that plod!
Quickly on Him your Iron Cross bestow
That He may wash you whiter than the snow.

VI

Prince of the Vanguard, heed no bleeding clod
Left on the reeking sod among your myrmidons
Where the anathema of your Huns
Hurled from iron guns
Dashes a million frightened souls to God!
Bright shines the promise of the Prince of Peace:
"Sheer you My sheep; garner their fleece," —
Or was it "feed" He said?
Too late! His sheep are dead.
All things must die, and even Death shall cease.
Then the Almighty on His throne may nod
Unvexed by martyrs importuning God.

THE END