IN that Valhalla where the heroes go A careful sentinel paced to and fro Before the gate, burnt black with battle smoke, Whose echoes to the tread of armed men woke, And up the fiery stairs whose steps are spears Came the pale heroes of the bloodstained years. There were lean Cæsars from the glory fields With heart that only to a sword-thrust yields; And there were Generals decked in pride of rank, Red scabbard swinging from the weary flank; And slender youths, who were the sons of kings, And barons with their sixteen quarterings. And while the nobles went with haughty air The courteous sentinel questioned: "Who goes there?" And as each came, full lustily he cried His string of titles, ere he passed inside. ... And presently there was a little man, A silent mover in the regal van. His hand still grasped his rifle, and his eyes Seemed blinded with the light from Paradise. ... His was a humble guise, a modest air— The sentinel held him sharply: "Who goes there?" There were no gauds tacked to that simple name, But every naked blade leapt out like flame, And every blue-blood warrior bowed his head— "I am a Belgian," this was all he said. Men's cheering echoed thro' the battle's Hell "Pass in, @3mon brave,@1" said that wise sentinel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RODNEY'S RIDE [JULY 3, 1776] by ELBRIDGE STREETER BROOKS CHRISTMAS IN INDIA by RUDYARD KIPLING THE MAID'S LAMENT; ELIZABETHAN by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR KIT CARSON'S RIDE by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE SONNET by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH EPISTLE TO HER FRIENDS AT GARTMORE by SUSANNA BLAMIRE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 36. FEAR HAS CAST OUT LOVE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |