Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LOFTY LANE, by EDWIN GERARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LOFTY LANE, by                    
First Line: Buckle the spur and belt again
Last Line: Before you halt at the lines again!
Alternate Author Name(s): Gerardy
Subject(s): Death; Grief; Scouting & Scouts; War; Dead, The; Sorrow; Sadness


Buckle the spur and belt again,
Saddle, and charge the magazine,
Toe the stirrup and touch the rein,
Speed where the foothills skyward lean;
Open your eyes and count the miles,
Gallop your horse through dark defiles,
And look for the body of Lofty Lane
Before you halt at the lines again.

Lofty Lane was a squadron scout,
Supple and long and loose of limb;
All spare happiness round about
Shone in the laughing eyes of him:
Never a man in his troop could show
Lane in the saddle the way to go.

Lane was a man who played with chance,
Times whenever the work came fast;
First man out in the swift advance,
Last man in when the day was past.
Many a clip of Turkish lead
Was aimed at Lane's gay heart and head.

Brazen summer began to brood,
Shrouding the hills with sombre haze;
Acres of uncut wheat that stood,
Shuddered and smoked and leapt ablaze.
Nature hardened its heart like stone,
When Lane rode into the hills alone.

Lane rode off from his squadron mate,
Over the fretting skyline's rim;
Laden with harm and black with hate,
Gully and hill in smoke grew dim.
Shots rang out in the hills that day,
And Lane was never so long away;

Never so long, that grave alarm
Before had murmured, "Lofty's dead."
Rumour announced: "The hand of harm
Let loose an ounce of well-aimed lead
And jolted the life-light from the face
That ever was welcome round the place."

Never had action waned his pluck,
Quelled or slackened his pleasing power,
And many assert that rotten luck
Hemmed him around in an evil hour;
And some men vow that Lofty Lane
Will live to greet all hands again.

Doubt hangs over the horselines still,
Yet we have searched and searched, in vain,
North and east of the furthest hill
That ever was crossed by Lofty Lane;
And there are many who gravely say
That Lane's alive in the east today.

Gaps are many at times, alas;
War is heavy on life and limb,
And many a weary day will pass
Before a man replaces him,
A man with a smile upon his face
That ever is welcome round the place.

Buckle the spur and belt again,
Saddle, and charge the magazine,
Toe the stirrup and touch the rein,
Speed where the foothills skyward lean;
Open your eyes and count the miles,
Gallop your horse through dark defiles,
And look for the body of Lofty Lane
Before you halt at the lines again!




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