Ballads of Battle/The Half-hour's Furlough
THE HALF-HOUR'S FURLOUGH
I thought that a man went home last nightFrom the trench where the tired men lie,And walked through the streets of his own old town—And I thought that the man was I.
And I walked through the gates of that good old townWhich circles below the hill,And laves its feet in the river fairThat floweth so full and still.
Gladly and gladly into my heartCame the old street sounds and sights,And pleasanter far than the PleiadesWas the gleam of the old street lights.
And as I came by St. Mary's Tower,The old, solemn bell struck ten,And back to me echoed the memoryOf my boyhood days again:Musing I turned me East aboutTo the haunt of my fellow-men.
There were some that walked, and some that talked,Beneath the old Arcade,And for comfort I elbowed among the throngAnd hearkened to what they said.
Some were that talked, and some that walkedBy one, by two, by three;And some there were who spake my nameAs though they lovéd me.
And some who said, "Might he but returnWhen this weary war is spent!And it moved me much that their thought was such,And I turned me well content.
I passed me along each familiar way,And paused at each friendly door,And thought of the things that had chanced withinIn the kindly days of yore.
Till I came to the place of my long, long love,Where she lay with her head on her arm;And she sighed a prayer that the dear Lord shouldShield my body from all harm.
Ae kiss I left on her snow-white brow,And ane on her raven hair,And ane, the last, on her ruby lips,Syne forth again I fare.
And I came to the home that will aye be home,And brightly the fires did burn,And at hearth, and in hearts, was a place for me'Gainst the day that I should return.
Then I came to the glade where my mother was laid,'Neath the cypress and the yew:And she stood abune, and she said, "My son,I am glad that your heart was true."
And I passed me over both hill and down,By each well-remembered path,While the blessed dawn, like the love o' God,Stole over the sleeping Strath.
And from a thorn came the pipe of a thrush,Like the first faint pipes of Peace:It slid with healing into my heart,And my sorrowing found surcease.*****Then I awoke to the sound of guns,And in my ears was the cry:"The Second Relief will stand to arms!"And I rose—for that man was I.