When the long grey lines came flooding upon Paris in the plain,
We stood and drank of the last free air we never could taste again;
They had led us back from a lost battle, to halt we knew not where,
And stilled us; and our gaping guns were dumb with our despair.
The grey tribes flowed for ever from the infinite lifeless lands,
And a Norman to a Breton spoke, his chin upon his hands:"There was an end to Ilium; and an end came to Rome;
And a man plays on a painted stage in the land that he calls home.
Arch after arch of triumph, but floor beyond falling floor,
That lead to a low door at last: and beyond there is no door."The Breton to the Norman spoke, like a small child spake he,
And his sea-blue eyes were empty as his home beside the sea:"There are more windows in one house than there are eyes to see;
There are more doors in a man's house, but God has hid the key;
Ruin is a builder of windows; her legend
Barbara, the saint of gunners, and a stay in sudden death."It seemed the wheel of the worlds stood still an instant in its turning,
More than the kings of the earth that turned with the turning of Valmy mill,
While trickled the idle tale and the sea-blue eyes were burning,
Still as the heart of a whirlwind, the heart of the world stood still."Barbara the
Had praise of lute and pen,
Her hair was like a summer night,
Dark and desired of men.
Her feet like birds from far
That linger and light in doubt,
And her face was like a
Where a man's first love looked out."Her sire was master of many slaves,
A hard man of his hands;
They built a tower about
In the desolate golden lands.
Sealed as the tyrants sealed their tombs,
Planned with an ancient plan,
And set two windows in the tower,
Like the two eyes of a man."Our guns were set towards the foe; we had no word for firing;
Grey in the gateways of St.
Gond the Guard of the tyrant shone;
Dark with the fate of a falling star, retiring and retiring,
The Breton line went backwards and the Breton tale went on."Her father had sailed across the
From the harbour of Africa,
When all the slaves took up their
For the bidding of Barbara.
She smote the bare wall with her hand,
And bade them smite again,
She poured them wealth of wine and
To stay them in their pain.
And cried through the lifted
Of thronging hammer and hod:'Throw open the third
In the third name of God!'Then the hearts failed and the tools fell;
And far towards the
Men saw a shadow on the sands;
And her father coming home."Speak low and low, along the line the whispered word is flying,
Before the touch, before the time, we may not
Ose a breath.
Their guns must mash us to the mire and there be no
Till the hand is raised to fling us for the final dice to Death."'There were two windows in your tower,
Barbara,
Barbara,
For all between the sun and
In the lands of Africa.
Hath a man three eyes,
Barbara,
A bird three wings,
That you have riven roof and
To look upon vain things?'Her voice was like a wandering
That falters, yet is free,
Whose soul has drunk in a distant
Of the rivers of liberty.
There are more wings than the wind knows,
Or eyes than see the sun,
In the light of the lost
And the wind of the doors undone.,
For out of the first
Are the red lands that
And out of the second lattice,
Sea like a green snake.
But out of the third lattice,
Under low eaves like
Is a new corner of the
And the other side of things.'"It opened in the inmost place an instant beyond uttering,
A casement and a chasm and a thunder of doors undone,
A seraph's strong wing shaken out the shock of its
That split the shattered sunlight from a light behind the sun."Then he drew sword and drave
Where the judges sat and said:'Cæsar sits above the Gods,
Barbara the maid.
Cæsar hath made a
With the moon and with the
All the gods that men can praise,
Praise him every one.
There is peace with the
Of the scarlet oils of Bel,
With the Fish God, where the
Is a winding stair to hell.
With the pathless pyramids of slime,
Where the mitred negro
To his black cherub in the
Abominable gifts.
With the leprous silver
Where the dumb priests dance and nod,
But not with the three
And the last name of God.'"They are firing, we are falling, and the red skies rend and shiver us…Barbara,
Barbara, we may not loose a breath —Be at the bursting doors of doom, and in the dark deliver us,
Who loosen the last window on the sun of sudden death."Barbara the
Stood up as a queen set
Whose mouth is set to a terrible
And the trumpet of liberty.'I have looked forth from a
That no man now shall bar,
Cæsar's toppling battle
Shall never stretch so far.
The slaves are dancing in their chains,
The child laughs at the rod,
Because of the bird of the three wings,
And the third face of God.'The sword upon his
Shifted and shone and fell,
And Barbara lay very
And crumpled like a shell."What wall upon what hinges turned stands open like a door?
Too simple for the sight of faith, too huge for human eyes,
What light upon what ancient way shines to a far off floor,
The line of the lost land of France or the plains of Paradise?"Cæsar smiled above the gods,
His lip of stone was curled,
His iron armies wound like
Round and round the world.
And the strong slayer of his
That cut down flesh for grass,
Smiled, too, and went to his own
Like a walking tower of brass.
And the songs ceased and the slaves were dumb:
And far towards the
Men saw a shadow on the sands;
And her father coming home…."Blood of his blood upon the
Stood red but never dry,
He wiped it slowly, till the
Was blue as the blue sky.
But the blue sky split with a thunder-crack,
Spat down a blinding brand,
And all of him lay back and
As his shadow on the sand."The touch and the tornado; all our guns give tongue together,
St.
Barbara for the gunnery and God defend the right —They are stopped and gapped and battered as we blast away the weather,
Building window upon window to our lady of the light.
For the light is come on Liberty, her foes are falling, falling,
They are reeling, they are running, as the shameful years have run,
She is risen for all the humble, she has heard the conquered calling,
St.
Barbara of the Gunners, with her hand upon the gun.
They are burst asunder in the midst that eat of their own flatteries,
Whose lip is curled to order as its barbered hair is curled…— Blast of the beauty of sudden death,
St.
Barbara of the batteries!
That blew the new white window in the wall of all the world.
For the hand is raised behind us, and the bolt smites
Through the rending of the doorways, through the death-gap of the Guard,
For the shout of the Three Colours is in Condé and beyond,
And the Guard is flung for carrion in the graveyard of St.
Gond;
Through Mondemont and out of it, through Morin marsh and on,
With earthquake of salutation the impossible thing is gone;
Gaul, charioted and charging, great Gaul upon a gun,
Tiptoe on all her thousand years, and trumpeting to the sun,
As day returns, as death returns, swung backward for a span,
Back on the barbarous reign returns the battering-ram of Man.
While that the east held hard and hot like pincers in a forge,
Came like the west wind roaring up the cannon of St.
George,
When the hunt is up and racing over stream and swamp and tarn,
And their batteries, black with battle, hold the bridge-heads of the Marne;
And across the carnage of the Guard by Paris in the
The Normans to the Bretons cried; and the Bretons cheered again;
But he that told the tale went home to his house beside the
And burned before St.
Barbara, the light of the windows three,
Three candles for an unknown thing, never to come again,
That opened like the eye of God on Paris in the plain.(St.
Barbara is the patroness of artillery, and of those who are in fear of sudden death.)
