Poem by Hilaire Belloc

The Leader

  The sword fell down: I heard a knell;
    I thought that ease was best,
  And sullen men that buy and sell
    Were host: and I was guest.
  All unashamed I sat with swine,
    We shook the dice for war,
  The night was drunk with an evil wine--
    But she went on before.

      She rode a steed of the sea-foam breed,
        All faery was her blade,
      And the armour on her tender limbs
        Was of the moonshine made.

  By God that sends the master-maids,
    I know not whence she came,
  But the sword she bore to save the soul
    Went up like an altar flame
  Where a broken race in a desert place
    Call on the Holy Name.

      We strained our eyes in the dim day-rise,
        We could not see them plain;
      But two dead men from Valmy fen
        Rode at her bridle-rein.

  I hear them all, my fathers call,
    I see them how they ride,
  And where had been that rout obscene
    Was an army straight with pride.
  A hundred thousand marching men,
    Of squadrons twenty score,
  And after them all the guns, the guns,
    But she went on before.

      Her face was like a king’s command
        When all the swords are drawn.
      She stretched her arms and smiled at us,
      Her head was higher than the hills.
      She led us to the endless plains.
        We lost her in the dawn.

1. Noël
2. To Dives
3. Stanzas Written on Battersea Bridge during a South-Westerly Gale
4. In a Boat
5. Courtesy

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