January G, 1916. 
LANDAND WATER. 
A SONG OF THE GUNS. 
By gilbert FRANKAU. 
[" A Song of the Guns " is a true war poem, for it was written under these condi- 
tions. The author, who is no'w serving -with the Royal Field Artillery in Flanders, was 
present at the Battle of Loos and during a lull in the fighting — -when the gunners who had 
been sleepless for five nights were resting like tired dogs under their guns — he jotted 
down the main theme of the poem. After the battle the Artillery Brigade to ivhich he 
was attached was ordered to Ypres, and it was during the long trench warfare in this 
district, within sight of the ruined tower of Ypres Cathedral, that the poem, was finally 
completed. The last three verses were written at midnight in Brigade Headquarters with 
the German shells screaming over into the ruined town. Mr. Gilbert Frankau has previously 
won good reputation as a poet with his two long poems " One of Jjs " and " Tid 'Apa".] 
1.— THE VOICE OF THE SLAVES. 
We arc the slaves of the guns, 
Serfs to the dominant things ; 
Ours are the eyes and the ears, 
And the brains of their messagings. 
Ours arc the hands that unleash 
The bUnd gods that raven by night. 
The lords of the terror at dawn 
When the landmarks are blotted from sight 
By the lit curdled churnings of smoke. 
When the lost trenches crumble and spout — 
Into loud roaring fountains of flame ; 
Till, their prison walls down, with a shout 
And a cheer, ordered line after line, 
Black specks on the barrage of gray 
That we lift — as they leap — to the clock, 
Oiu: infantry storm to the fray. 
These are our masters, the slim 
(irim muzzles that irk in the pit ; 
. That chafe for the rushing of wheels, 
For the teams plunging madly to bit 
As tb.e gunners swing down to unkey. 
For the trails sweeping haif-circle-right, 
For the six breech-blocks clashing as one 
To a target viewed clear on the sight— 
Uun masses the shells search, and tear 
Into fragments that bunch as they run— 
For the hour of the red battle-harvest, 
The dream of the slaves of the gun ! 
We have bartered our souls to the guns ; 
Every fibre of body and brain 
Have we trained to them, chained to them. Serfs ? 
Aye ! but proud of the weight of our chain — 
Of our backs that are bowed to their workings. 
To hide them and guard and disguise — 
Of our ears that are deafened \\ith service. 
Of hands that are scarred, and of eyes 
Grown hawklike with marking their prey— 
Of wings that are ripped as with swords 
When we hover, the turn of a blade 
From the death that is sweet to our lords. 
By the ears and the eyes and the brain, 
By the limbs and the hands and the wings. 
We arc slaves to our masters the guns . . . 
But their slaves are the masters of langs ! 
2. -HEADQUARTERS. 
A league and a league from the trenches— from the traversed maze of the linos, 
Where daylong the sniper watches and daylong the bullet whines, 
And the cratered earth is in travail with mines and with coimtermines— 
Here, Mherc haply some woman dreamed, (are those her roses that bloom 
In the garden beyond the windows of my pttered working-room ?) 
We have decked the map for our masters as a bride is decked for the groom. 
Fair, on. each lettered numbered square— cross-road and mound and wire, 
Loophole, redoubt and emplacement— lie the targets their mouths desire ; 
Gay with purples and browns and blues, have we traced them their arcs of fire. 
And ever the type-keys clatter ; and ever our keen wires bring 
\\'ord from the watchers a-crouch below, word from the watchers a-wing ; 
And e\-er we hear the distant growl of our hid guns thundering 
Hear it hardly, and turn again to our maps where the trench-lines crawl, 
Red on the gray and each with a sign for the ranging shrapnel's fall- 
Snakes that our masters shall scotch at dawn, as is written here on the wall. 
For the weeks of our waiting draw to a close. . . . There is scarcely a leaf astir 
In the garden beyond my windows where the twilight shadows bliur 
The blaze of some woman's roses ... 
" Bombardment orders, sir \ " 
N.B.— A Son)* of the Guns will be continued in our next issue. 
