Jessie Pope

(18 March 1868 - 14 December 1941 / Leicestershire, England)

The Lads Of The Maple Leaf - Poem by Jessie Pope

RIPE for any adventure, sturdy, loyal and game,
Quick to the call of the Mother, the young Canadians came.
Eager to show their mettle, ready to shed their blood,
They bowed their neck to the collar and trained in the Wiltshire mud;

Shipped, in the fulness of time, across to the other shore,
Heard a deep hum in the distance, the basso profundo of war,
Fretted to get to the business, chafed for the firing line;
Forward, with throbbing pulses, like pilgrims who near their shrine;

Spoiled for a fight, and got it -- lurid, merciless, red --
Trifled with death in the trenches, braved, and battled, and bled;
Then, at a given order, gathered together and backed --
Not because they were bending, but to keep the line intact.

Four of their guns defenceless -- left in the enemy's hand!
That was a bitter buffet, more than the lads could stand.
Back charged the men of the Maple, routed the jubilant Huns,
Captured a pack of Germans, and saved their beloved guns.

Ripe for any adventure, sturdy, loyal, and game,
Quick to the call of the Mother, the keen Canadians came.
Hurrah for the young Dominion! Then cheer them with heart and voice,
The Maple shall never wither! Bravo, Canada boys!

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 5, 2011


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