And Other Poems.
27
Dying like a valiant soldier, after fighting long and well,
List the story of Von Tempsky—master of the sword and lance—
Brief the record, yet it seems like some wild legend or romance:
Born in the Germanic nation, in a martial cradle nursed,
Gallant son of gallant soldier, glory claimed him from the first;
For the blood of ancient Poland filled his veins and made his heart
Leap with a desire to play in freedom’s cause a leading part.
His a breast that knew not danger, his a stalwart arm and bold,
His a nature far too tameless to be cribbed in cages old.
All the narrow ways of Europe, all the selfishness of caste,
All the tyranny of custom, all the serfdom of the past,
Roused his eagle soul to anger, and the soldier fled afar;
To the wild Mosquito region, where the hurricane of war,
Blew away the Old World cobwebs from his eyes and from his brain,
As he led the untamed Indians ’gainst the troops of Sunny Spain;
Then again his love of ’venture took him to the Golden Gate,
Swept him back once more to Europe and from thence his wayward fate
Tempted him across the ocean to the land of cloudless skies;
Where the hunters after fortune madly sought the precious prize.
Not for him the golden treasure, not for him the yellow corn:
He was doomed to die a soldier, for a soldier he was born.
On the plains of fair New Zealand, savage war was in the air:
List the story of Von Tempsky—master of the sword and lance—
Brief the record, yet it seems like some wild legend or romance:
Born in the Germanic nation, in a martial cradle nursed,
Gallant son of gallant soldier, glory claimed him from the first;
For the blood of ancient Poland filled his veins and made his heart
Leap with a desire to play in freedom’s cause a leading part.
His a breast that knew not danger, his a stalwart arm and bold,
His a nature far too tameless to be cribbed in cages old.
All the narrow ways of Europe, all the selfishness of caste,
All the tyranny of custom, all the serfdom of the past,
Roused his eagle soul to anger, and the soldier fled afar;
To the wild Mosquito region, where the hurricane of war,
Blew away the Old World cobwebs from his eyes and from his brain,
As he led the untamed Indians ’gainst the troops of Sunny Spain;
Then again his love of ’venture took him to the Golden Gate,
Swept him back once more to Europe and from thence his wayward fate
Tempted him across the ocean to the land of cloudless skies;
Where the hunters after fortune madly sought the precious prize.
Not for him the golden treasure, not for him the yellow corn:
He was doomed to die a soldier, for a soldier he was born.
On the plains of fair New Zealand, savage war was in the air:
