 | Contributions to a Ballad History of England and the States Sprung from Her |  |
OUR GUARDS.
Whose tramp comes sounding to us
From all our fields of glory?
Whose cheers are ringing through us
From all our martial story?
'Tis our Guards' tramp, onward ever,
Nor steel nor cannon heeding;
'Tis our Guards' cheer, silent never,
When, their cheers, their land is needing;
Through the fiercest hours of battle,
Flames the lightning of their swords,
Rolls their rifles' volleying rattle,
As, to victory, go the Guards.
From all our fields of glory?
Whose cheers are ringing through us
From all our martial story?
'Tis our Guards' tramp, onward ever,
Nor steel nor cannon heeding;
'Tis our Guards' cheer, silent never,
When, their cheers, their land is needing;
Through the fiercest hours of battle,
Flames the lightning of their swords,
Rolls their rifles' volleying rattle,
As, to victory, go the Guards.
From Marlborough's fields of glory,
Their flags renown are bearing;
Of Wellington's great story,
The fame, those flags are sharing;
O banners, fiercely streaming,
Your shot-rent tatters under,
How oft their bayonets' gleaming
Has crushed the battle's thunder!
The centuries, onward ranging,
Still conquering find their swords;
Whatever else is changing,
Unchanged are still the Guards.
Their flags renown are bearing;
Of Wellington's great story,
The fame, those flags are sharing;
116
Your shot-rent tatters under,
How oft their bayonets' gleaming
Has crushed the battle's thunder!
The centuries, onward ranging,
Still conquering find their swords;
Whatever else is changing,
Unchanged are still the Guards.
Up, through the dread breach, pouring,
Gay, in the shell-swept trenches,
On, through the batteries' roaring,
Our English Guard ne'er blenches;
Not theirs the hearts to shame us;
The fields their fathers vaunted,
To-day, with fields as famous,
They match with ranks undaunted;
If Victory ever doubt, boys,
Above the game of swords,
She's ours, when rings the shout, boys,
“Make room there for the Guards.”
Gay, in the shell-swept trenches,
On, through the batteries' roaring,
Our English Guard ne'er blenches;
Not theirs the hearts to shame us;
The fields their fathers vaunted,
To-day, with fields as famous,
They match with ranks undaunted;
If Victory ever doubt, boys,
Above the game of swords,
She's ours, when rings the shout, boys,
“Make room there for the Guards.”
| Contributions to a Ballad History of England and the States Sprung from Her | |