January 20, 1916. LAND AND WATER. 
A SONG OF THE GUNS. 
By gilbert FRANKAU. 
4.-EYES IN THE AIR. 
Our guns arc a league behind us, our target a mile below. 
And there's never a cloud to Wind us from the haunts of our lurking fo^- 
Sunk pit whence his shra|mertore us, support-trench cresf-roncealed. 
As clear as the charts before us, his ramparts lie revealed. 
His panicked watchers spy us, a droning threat in the void. 
Their whistling shells outfly lis— puff upon puff, deployed 
Across the green beneath,. us. .across the flanking gray. 
In fume and fire to sheath' us and baulk us of our prev. 
Below, beyond, above her 
Their iron web* is spun: 
Flicked butunsnared we hover. 
Edged ■ planes against the sun : 
Eyes in the air above his lair. 
The hawks that guide the gun ! 
No word from earth may, r(;ach us save, white against th3 ground, 
The strips outspread to teaoh us whose ears are deaf to sound : 
But down the winds that sear us, athwart our engine's shriek, 
We send — and know they hear us, the ranging guns we speak. 
Our visored eyeballs show uS; their answering pennant, broke 
Eight thousand feet below us, a whorl of flame-stabbed smoke— 
Tne burst that hangs to ^uide us, while numbed gloved fingers tap 
From wireless key beside us the circles of the map. 
, , Line — target — short or over — 
--ijil- . . ,• .... 
fcfff <:t?'>.r;' ■ ' Come, .plain as clock hands nm, 
iwiifiv Words from the birds that hover, 
Unblinded, tail to sun : 
Word out of air to range them fair. 
From hawks that guide the gun ! 
Your (lying shells have failed you, your landward guns are dumb : 
Since earth hath naught availed you, these skies b3 open ! Come 
Where, wild to meet and mate you, flame in their beaks for breath. 
Black doves ! the white hawks wait you on the wind-tossed bouglis of death. 
These boughs be cold without you, our hearts are hot for this ; 
Our wings shall beat aboiit^ yOu, our scorching breath shall kiss : 
Till, fraught with that we gave you, fulfilled of our desire. 
You bank — too late to sav:; you from bitincr beaks of fire- 
Turn sideways from your lover. 
Shudder and swerve and run. 
Tilt ; stagger ; and plunge over 
Ablaze . against the sun : 
Doves dead in air, who clomb to dare 
The hawks that guide the gun I 
;:i, ,U 
N.B.— A Song of the Guns will be contf iued in our next issue. 
SPENCER PRYSE'S WAR LITHOGRAPHS. 
We publish to-day the first of a series of War Lithographs, which iVir. Spencer Pryse drew at the 
beginning of the war. He was the first English Artist to find himself within sound of the guns. 
Events in those days moved quickly, and he covered numberless miles in order to see all there was 
to be seen, passing from Antwerp to Bordeaux, through Belgium and France, and again along the 
French trenches in Artois and Champagne. His views of the Western Front are unrivalled and have 
acquir J strong histoi^ical interest. Many of them ware drawn direct on the stone, and so they have 
an actuality which is uncommon in lithographs. Mr. Spencer Pryse's work is too well known in this 
country to need any commendation from us: he stands on an eminence by himself. 
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