Part 1 (1/2)

Two Fishers, and Other Poems.

by Herbert Edward Palmer.

TWO FISHERS

When the War is over, Charley, We'll go fis.h.i.+ng once again.

You'll be a new man, Charley, When you walk with fishermen.

For we'll seek a leaping river I know far among the fells; You'll forget the War there, Charley, Where the springing water wells.

It's G.o.d's own land for the nimble trout, And ferns and waving flowers, The bracken and the bilberry, And the ash the coral dowers.

There are rolling leagues of heather, Lone hills where the plovers call.

Oh, we'll climb those hills together Ere the last dews fall!

And we'll talk to the wild creatures In the crannies of the moors; Oh, our hearts will mount to Heaven When the merry lark soars!

All our days will s.h.i.+ne with gladness, All our nights with calm repose.

And we'll throw a fly together Where the rus.h.i.+ng stream flows.

Nature has been to me lately As a fair and radiant bride, She has drawn me with strange gentleness To the hollow of her side.

She has gone forth like a warrior With p.r.i.c.king glaive and spear, And Grief has quailed in his ambush When her flas.h.i.+ng arms drew near.

I never loved sweet England Till she kissed me in the West, The sun upon her s.h.i.+ning brows And the purple on her breast, Breathing songs of low compa.s.sion To my spirit as it cried, When I mourned that sinning country Which had thrust me from her side.

All the wooded hills of the Eifel, All the vine-bergs of the Rhine, All the glimmering strands of the Baltic, All the Brocken black with pine, Hold no tenderness of Beauty, (Beauty in the spirit dwells,) Such as smiles from one sweet valley Darkling 'mid the Western fells.

Do you remember, old fellow, When we fished near Altenahr, Where the red wine was flowing And the bowl flashed a star?

Do you remember the big schutzmann, With his sword by his side, Who guessed that you were poaching, And scared you off to hide?

Oh, if he'd only known, Charley, When you sought the bridge's cover That you'd join the British Army And go killing of his brother, He'd have searched bank and vineyard For a poacher of such worth, And put you in a prison cell To cool your summer's mirth.

And do you remember the old inn With the blue saint above the door,[1]-- Simon Peter, who looked longingly Upon our speckled store?-- He who loves all careless fishers Of the river and the sea, And prays that G.o.d shall save them With his mates of Galilee.

And what a wild night we had When we rode home again!

For the students were all dancing And singing in the train; And a tall man tw.a.n.ged a banjo Till he fairly gave us fits; And a porter ran up swearing, And the banjo flew to bits.

We were all drunk as blazes, Full of wine to burst.

But, by the sober lads of England, Those Germans were the worst.

They were singing and dancing, And shouting with delight; And the carriage rocked with laughter As we rushed into the night.

They are all dead now, Charley; They were merry fellows then.

They are dust and scattered ashes Washed by the rain.

They are crying in the darkness Where a grayer planet spins.

But the Lord is kind to fishers And has spared us in our sins.

Oh, the Lord is kind to fishers Of the river and the sea For the sake of Simon Peter And the lads of Galilee!

For the sake of Simon Peter, Who so gladly would us shrive, We are walking in the sunlight, We are breathing and alive.

And when the War is over We'll fish awhile together, We'll climb the Western mountains, And walk the Western heather, And the curlew and the wild grouse Will wake the vales with crying, And their soft rus.h.i.+ng pinions Will tremble by us, sighing.

All the dead shepherds Will hear them in their rest.