fought for us, and the grey-goose feather has flown once again in
English battle.

* *

Since that day I look eagerly for the ghosts who must be taking their
share in this world-war. Never since the world began was such a war as
this: surely Marlborough and the Duke, Talbot and Harry of Monmouth,
and many another shadowy captain must be riding among our horsemen.
The old gods of war are wakened by this loud clamour of the guns.

* *

All the lands are astir. It is not enough that Asia should be humming
like an angry hive and the far islands in arms, Australia sending her
young men and Canada making herself a camp. When we talk over the war
news, we call up ancient names: we debate how Rome stands and what is
the matter with Greece.

* *

As for Greece, I have ceased to talk of her. If I wanted to say
anything about Greece I should get down the Poetry Book and quote Lord
Byron's fine old ranting verse. "The mountains look on Marathon--and
Marathon looks on the sea." But "standing on the Persians' grave"
Greece seems in the same humour that made Lord Byron give her up as a
hopelessly flabby country.

* *