SONG OF THE ZEPPELIN

By Thomas O'Hagan

I cleave the air through the murky night,

High o'er the forests and sleeping towns;

Below me drifts the shimmering light —

A glorious fresco on vale and downs;

My sea hath no billows nor rocky shores,

And only the winds disturb my soul;

I care not for those who slumber in death,

For my bomb is bloody and death my goal —

And all for the Vaterland!

Where the currents cross and the cruisers speed

I sail towards the North in a piteous sky;

I hear the night wind's surging note

As it mingles its requiem with the widow's cry.

Above me there streams a light from heaven,

But I bow my head and veil my eyes

As I plough the fields with my fateful keel

And sow the highways with tears and sighs —

And all for the Vaterland!

And hate is the banner I unfurl so wide

That its blood-dripp'd folds may catch the breeze;

That e'en from the balcony of heaven on high

May be seen this banner on all the seas.

No triumph of arms is my flight by night,

It is only a part of a murderous raid:

Dropping a bomb on an innocent child

Or a crowing babe in its cradle laid —

And all for the Vaterland!