 | Ballads of the War |  |
Old Mortality
A SKETCH AT LADYSMITH
With rifle, bible, luncheon-bag, and pipe,We saw him going forth each day to snipe;
We watched him on the foemen get his bead
Then fire, then turn his Holy Book to read,
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That told how Israel smote a godless race,
How hip and thigh, at Heaven's august command
The Hebrew drove the Hivite from the land;
He could not wish the modern Hivites well
Seeing we hid in holes from shot and shell;
Or else from Kings he turned for hope and calm
To Kruger's late commended battle-psalm.
Then could we note how he would luncheon take
—His bit of biltong and his barley-cake,
Or sudden sighting scouts upon the hill
Would lay his rifle true again with skill;
Then scratch his head and fill his ancient pipe,
Puff clouds, till chance once more should bid him snipe;
And so till evening sit and smoke and read,
Or on the far-off foeman get his bead,
Then rise, and from his boulder steal away
In hopes of more success another day.
We called him “Old Mortality,” and came
Almost with love to think upon his name—
This Bible-reading, smoking, sniping Boer,
Whose shots were frequent tho' his bag was poor;
And tho' his humour was a little grim,
We sighed when Death the Sniper called for him.
| Ballads of the War | |