Oh, look at me, kind men! I am clothed in snow-white robes, for I am
innocent before the God of peace and love; it was not I that cast into
the world the torch of strife, not I that lit the horrid flame of
conflagration, not I that caused hot tears to stream from mothers',
widows' eyes.
Oh, look at me, kind men! Look at this scarlet blot upon my bosom that
burns so vividly upon my snow-white robe--Oh, 'tis my wounded heart,
from which red blood is gushing forth! The traitor pierced me to the
heart, he plunged his sword into my bosom. Ah, what a cruel blow!
On through this field I marched in peace, bearing these flowers,
listening to the songsters' choirs on high, and praising God, who made
the beauteous flowers. Who coveted this path of mine, that wound
'midst flowers and songs? The traitor pierced my very heart, and the
white petals lifeless hang, o'er-sprinkled with red blood.
White rose! My gentle, dear white rose!
Oh, look at me, kind men! 'Tis not a crown upon my head, 'tis
waterplants, the greenish grass of ocean fields, with which the sea
had clad me. What could I do? So once again I sought my dear, old sea,
I knelt before its mighty waves, I prayed: "Oh, cover me, my dear, old
sea, for nowhere else can I seek aid. The cruel stranger rules my
home; my gentle children lifeless lie. And dost thou see those horrid
flames, that rise where once my temples stood? Oh, cover me, protect
me, my dear, my dear, old sea, for nowhere else can I seek aid!"
'Twas thus I spoke and wept in grief. And lo! the kindly sea gave me
protection.
And out of the sea I came again, I came to tell you that I live.
Oh, look at me, kind men! For I am Belgium, and I live. My King, my
Albert is alive; my Belgian people lives.
No, these are not tears that glisten in my eyes. Enough of tears! A
holy wrath inflames my heart!
No, this is not a wound upon my bosom, 'tis a red, red rose, the
quenchless flame of war, my sacred oath!
Red rose! My terrible red rose!
No, this wreath upon my head is not of waterplants, no, 'tis the crown
of Belgium, the crown of a free nation!
Where is my sword?
In the name of Justice and of Freedom, in my King's name I raise the
sword.
To Belgium's aid, O Nations!
God save the Czar and Russia, that gave her blood for me!
God save the King and Britain, that shed her blood for me!
Forward, fair France's children! Form your battalions, hasten, hasten!
To Belgium's aid, O Nations!
[Illustration: Map showing where the French were trying on June 20,
1915, to capture the German lateral lines of communications about
Arras and Lens in their steady forward drive in the north of France.
The "Labyrinth" appears in the lower left section.]