[By WlI-T-TAM Watson".] To the October ' Nineteenth Century and After' Mr William Watson contributes a liMiff poem entitled 'Funer.il March for Kaiser Wilhelin ll.' It was evidently written at a white heat of indignation, and shnwd tho poet's marvellous power of concentrated invective. To Mr Watson, as to inost of our poets, the Kaiser's hypocritical claims to be an apostle of culture aro peculiarly abhorrent, in view of tho deeds wrought at Louvain and elsewhere by his armies. Wo quote below acme typical stanzas, which will show tho nature and quality of tin's terrible "funeral march " : Open the Kartli, Lower him in. Lnughter and Mirth, Let I liem begin. Hate,, that blind, Furies that curse ; Follow behind ; Follow hie hoarse. Into tho Night, When lie is spurned ; Give him outright All ho has earned : Anguish dire ; Famine of soul: Tmpotcnt. ire, Balked of its goal; Vengeance fell. Haunting his crhnst ; All that in bell Tortures most. Fashion his bed Deep, deep ; Earth o'er his head Heap, heap. Load upon load Let him not lack, Lost his abode Vomit him back. Pillage and Fire, Born of the Sword, Follow your siro. Follow your lord. Phantom throng, Victims all, Follow along ; Follow the. pall. Youth defiled. Widowhood wan ; Follow tho wild Cortege l on. Ago by the strong lirtitallv slain, Follow the long Funeral train. Outcasts, fim, 11 •■" :•'.■. and .soreAll the forlorn Leavings of War; Ghastly of hue, Fmptied of breath, Come to our now Dance of Death. First of all spies Faith to o'crrun, Father oi Lies, 'lake thy son. Carnage, whoso great Fangs yet foam. Greet thy mat-o, Welcome him homo. Merciless Lust. Ravening red. Mo rr, thy august Patron dead. Karth is gay, Heaven is glad ; Over him play Music mad. Notes that fear, I'nurd.-, that gore : Wilder than, e'er Shook Night's floor. "Who shall design Cenotaph grand; High, like bis line ; Broad, like his land. Grave it with ono Word, writ plain : Wide in the sun Blazoned : Louvain. Triumph, era wave'. Was it not he. Strove to enslave Us. and tho sea? Hammers of doom Dirge in your forge; Him whom no tomb Durst disgorge. Hero are his court, Empire, and crown; Bites bo short, Lower him down.
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THE KAISER, Evening Star, Issue 15688, 30 December 1914
THE KAISER Evening Star, Issue 15688, 30 December 1914
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