The Road Poem by Gordon Alchin

When first the paving of the Road
Rang to the tread of the marching Roman,
And Caesar's legions seaward strode
To find a yet unmastered foeman,-
Full many a curse, of ancient flavour,
Rolled far along the muddy Way;
A curse upon the highway's paver,
Whose echoes linger to this day!

A thousand years - (when England lay
Beneath the heel of the Norman raider):-
The cobbles of the age-worn Way
Echo the march of the mailed Crusader:
Whilst many an oath, of pious fervour,
Between their chaunt and roundelay,
Gives proof to any close observer,
That men are changed little to-day!

Again a thousand years - again
The ancient frontier Road enslaving,
Come horse and cannon, motor-train:-
All sweep along the narrow paving.
A wondrous change, you say? but listen!
Listen to the words they say!
What matter cannon, petrol, piston?
The men are just the same to-day!