The centenaries of the great battles of the First World War continue to resonate. John Buchan, the celebrated novelist, biographer, and public figure, lost his younger brother Alastair, who died of wounds at Arras, April 9, 2017. This is from the elegy he wrote for his sibling.

ALASTAIR BUCHAN

A mile or two from Arras town

The yellow moorland stretches far,

And from its crests the roads go down

Like arrows to the front of war.

~

All day the laden convoys pass,

The sunburnt troops are swinging by,

And far above the trampled grass

The droning planes climb up the sky.

~

In April when I passed that way

An April joy was in the breeze;

The hollows of the woods were gay

With slender-stalked anemones.

~

The horn of Spring was faintly blown,

Bidding a ransomed world awake.

Nor could the throbbing batteries drown

The nesting linnets in the brake.

~

And as I stood beside the grave,

Where ’mid your kindly Scots you lie,

I could not think that one so brave,

So glad of heart, so kind of eye,

~

Had found the deep and dreamless rest,

Which men may crave who bear the scars

Of weary decades on their breast,

And yearn for slumber after wars.

~

You scarce had shed your boyhood’s years,

In every vein the blood ran young,

Your soul uncramped by ageing fears,

Your tales untold, your songs unsung.

~

As if my sorrow to beguile,

I heard the ballad’s bold refrain:

‘I’ll lay me downe and bleed a-while,

And then I’ll rise and fight again.’