Craigcrook Castle By Gerald Massey |
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 | Craigcrook Castle |  |
112
IV.
Our old War-banners on the wind
Were dancing merrily o'er them;
Our half world husht with hope behind—
The sullen Foe before them!
They trode their march of battle, bold
As death-devoted freemen;
Like those Three Hundred Greeks of old,
Or Rome's immortal Three Men.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
Were dancing merrily o'er them;
Our half world husht with hope behind—
The sullen Foe before them!
They trode their march of battle, bold
As death-devoted freemen;
Like those Three Hundred Greeks of old,
Or Rome's immortal Three Men.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
With towering heart and lightsome feet
They went to their high places;
The fiery valour at white heat
Was flashing in their faces!
Magnificent in battle-robe,
And radiant, as from star-lands,
That spirit shone which girds our globe
With glory, as with garlands!
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
They went to their high places;
The fiery valour at white heat
Was flashing in their faces!
113
And radiant, as from star-lands,
That spirit shone which girds our globe
With glory, as with garlands!
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
They saw the Angel Iris o'er
Their deluge of grim fire;
And with their life's last tide they bore
The Ark of Freedom higher!
And grander 't is i' the dash of death
To ride on Battle's billows,
When Victory's kisses take the breath,
Than sink on balmiest pillows!
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
Their deluge of grim fire;
And with their life's last tide they bore
The Ark of Freedom higher!
And grander 't is i' the dash of death
To ride on Battle's billows,
When Victory's kisses take the breath,
Than sink on balmiest pillows!
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
Brave Hearts, with noble feeling flusht,
In ripe and ruddy riot
But Yesterday! how are ye husht
Beneath the smile of Quiet!
For us they pour'd their blood like wine,
From life's ripe-gather'd clusters;
And far thro' History's night shall shine
Their deeds with starry lustres.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
In ripe and ruddy riot
But Yesterday! how are ye husht
Beneath the smile of Quiet!
114
From life's ripe-gather'd clusters;
And far thro' History's night shall shine
Their deeds with starry lustres.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
We laid them not in Churchyard home,
Beneath our darling daisies:
But to their rude mounds Love will come,
And sit, and sing their praises.
And soothly sweet shall be their rest
Where Victory's hands have crown'd them;
To Earth our Mother's bosom prest,
And Heaven's arms around them.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
Beneath our darling daisies:
But to their rude mounds Love will come,
And sit, and sing their praises.
And soothly sweet shall be their rest
Where Victory's hands have crown'd them;
To Earth our Mother's bosom prest,
And Heaven's arms around them.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
Yes, there they lie 'neath Alma's sod,
On pillows dark and gory,—
As brave a host as ever trod
Old England's fields of glory.
With head to home and face to sky,
And feet the Tyrant spurning,
So grand they look, so proud they lie,
We weep for glorious yearning.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
On pillows dark and gory,—
As brave a host as ever trod
Old England's fields of glory.
115
And feet the Tyrant spurning,
So grand they look, so proud they lie,
We weep for glorious yearning.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
They in Life's outer circle sleep,
As each in death stood Sentry!
And with our England's Dead still keep
Their watch for kin and country.
Up Alma, in their red footfalls,
Comes Freedom's dawn victorious;
Such graves are courts to festal halls!
They banquet with the Glorious.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
As each in death stood Sentry!
And with our England's Dead still keep
Their watch for kin and country.
Up Alma, in their red footfalls,
Comes Freedom's dawn victorious;
Such graves are courts to festal halls!
They banquet with the Glorious.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
Our Chiefs who matcht the men of yore,
And bore our shield's great burden,—
The nameless Heroes of the Poor,—
They all shall have their guerdon.
In silent eloquence, each life
The Earth holds up to heaven;
And Britain gives for Child and Wife,
As those dear hearts have given.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
And bore our shield's great burden,—
The nameless Heroes of the Poor,—
They all shall have their guerdon.
116
The Earth holds up to heaven;
And Britain gives for Child and Wife,
As those dear hearts have given.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
The spirits of our fathers still
Stand up in battle by us;
And in our need, on Alma hill,
The Lord of Hosts was nigh us.
Let Joy or Sorrow brim our cup,
'T is an exultant story,
How England's Chosen Ones went up
Red Alma's hill to glory.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
Stand up in battle by us;
And in our need, on Alma hill,
The Lord of Hosts was nigh us.
Let Joy or Sorrow brim our cup,
'T is an exultant story,
How England's Chosen Ones went up
Red Alma's hill to glory.
Ah, Victory! joyful Victory!
Like Love, thou bringest sorrow;
But, O! for such an hour with thee,
Who could not die to-morrow?
| Craigcrook Castle | |