Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BELLS OF BRUGES, by LOUISE BURTON LAIDLAW


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BELLS OF BRUGES, by                    
First Line: Back with the same question, major?
Last Line: "come on corporal.—damn this war!"
Alternate Author Name(s): Backus, L., Mrs.
Subject(s): Bells; Bruges, Belgium; World War I; First World War


When we were sitting enthralled beneath the tower this summer, one citizen
said, "It is wonderful that we have it. The question of its destruction came up
again and again in the English and French command."
Another said, "It means more to us than ever now."

"Back with the same question Major,
For the old 'blue, blank and rouge'
Shall we sacrifice the belfry?
May we hit the tower of Bruges?"

"No, I've given you the answer—
Had strict orders from above—
And I'd die before the cannon,
You'd not touch those bells we love.
No, there is no use saluting
Now, I saw that dirty grin

Get the hell ... No, wait a moment
I've my reasons. Here, come in.
Do you know what age-long beauty
And association mean?
That old pile is almost human.
We can't raze the belfry clean
Where its stones have stood for ages;
We can't act like maddened swine
Just for some minute advantage
On one sector of front line."

"Gawd! you know the general orders—
Hit the high spots when you can;
Well you've got more bloomin' notions!—
Spare the tower and kill the man.
It's from up that blasted look-out
That the Huns are making hay.
Puff, they send a baby rocket,
They can see us plain as day,
Almost look into our trenches,—
And they've picked off every scout.
Then you wonder what I have
The bloody gall to kick about."

"Sergeant, war's a dirty game, yet
Here's our chance to play it fair.
Towns are levelled, men are broken
Hearts are shattered,—C'est la guerre!
But we must preserve such beauty,
Progress may continue then.
And, perhaps there's something greater
Than the single lives of men."

"I can't say I understand you
With those highfalutin words,
But I don't keep on feeding man flesh
To those strutting, straffing birds.
Now you know I'm not a coward
And I'm ready for to die
But I can't send out volunteers
When once they've looked me in the eye.
They're great fellows when you know them,
Hell! Each man's a human life
With a world of hopes to live for,
Out beyond this devil's strife."

"See here, man, I was an artist;—
War's my job now, and I would
Raze the city if I fancied
It would do sufficient good.
I've a heart and know your feelings—
Now let's overlook the 'hells'!—
Yes, the tower may have to go;
Think though before you'd hit those bells,
How many a moulder lost his life
To give them perfect harmony,
They say a master gave his soul
That those wonder bells might be."

"Yes, and when the war is done;
When all my topping men are dead,
Their wives can point to that blame tower
As their memorial!—Heigh, Ed,
Send the next five scouts on over,
They won't see light any more.—
Pardon the intrusion, major.—
Come on Corporal.—Damn this war!"





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