The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth With Sixteen Illustrations. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton |
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THE CHILD-SOLDIER. |
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 | The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth |  |
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THE CHILD-SOLDIER.
A little boy stood on the field,
A little English boy;
It was a merry game, thought he,
And he was brisk with joy.
The battle seemed but sport to him,
And every ball a toy.
A little English boy;
It was a merry game, thought he,
And he was brisk with joy.
The battle seemed but sport to him,
And every ball a toy.
He was a British Grenadier,
And he was ten years old;
And therefore what had he to fear,
A soldier brisk and bold?
The little lad was bravely clad
In English red and gold.
And he was ten years old;
And therefore what had he to fear,
A soldier brisk and bold?
The little lad was bravely clad
In English red and gold.
Undaunted when the iron balls
Were bowled along the ground,
He marched unhurt where six-foot men
Their graves of glory found;
He marched along with a stalwart throng
To the cannon's awful sound.
Were bowled along the ground,
He marched unhurt where six-foot men
Their graves of glory found;
He marched along with a stalwart throng
To the cannon's awful sound.
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But when the battle had been fought,
And on the field at night
Lay fifteen hundred Englishmen
In miserable plight,
The little lad would take no rest,
Though wearied with the fight.
And on the field at night
Lay fifteen hundred Englishmen
In miserable plight,
The little lad would take no rest,
Though wearied with the fight.
But, stepping over many a corpse,
His comrades saw him go,
And risk his life by passing close
To many a wounded foe.
“What means the lad? He must be mad
To court destruction so!”
His comrades saw him go,
And risk his life by passing close
To many a wounded foe.
“What means the lad? He must be mad
To court destruction so!”
They watched him. He was gathering wood.
It warmed their hearts to see
That fearless lad—of broken stocks
A heavy load had he.
He made a fire upon the field,
And boiled a can of tea.
It warmed their hearts to see
That fearless lad—of broken stocks
A heavy load had he.
He made a fire upon the field,
And boiled a can of tea.
Cold, cold, and stiff the wounded lay;
Yet still one cheerful spot—
One fire was blazing brightly near—
One kind friend left them not:
And grateful were those pleasant draughts
He brought them—steaming hot.
Yet still one cheerful spot—
One fire was blazing brightly near—
One kind friend left them not:
And grateful were those pleasant draughts
He brought them—steaming hot.
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And so he passed the midnight hours
With hell on every side;
And during that long dreadful night,
In suffering hundreds died:
But some were saved by the soldier-lad
And the comforts he supplied.
With hell on every side;
And during that long dreadful night,
In suffering hundreds died:
But some were saved by the soldier-lad
And the comforts he supplied.
At Balaklava, and the height
Of Inkerman—the grave
Of thousands—this heroic child
Fought bravely with the brave.
Hemmed round by Russian bayonets,
He still survived to save
Of Inkerman—the grave
Of thousands—this heroic child
Fought bravely with the brave.
Hemmed round by Russian bayonets,
He still survived to save
The lives of others afterwards;
And there are those who say,
That, but for that good-hearted boy,
They must have died that day,
When on the field of Inkerman
The helpless wounded lay.
And there are those who say,
That, but for that good-hearted boy,
They must have died that day,
When on the field of Inkerman
The helpless wounded lay.
The hero of this little ballad (which is merely a plain statement of facts) is Thomas Keep, of the third battalion of Grenadier Guards, under the command of Col. Thomas Wood. He saved the lives of Serjeant Russell and others, and has been recommended by Colonels Robinson and Wood. His personal bravery in the field might be in part the effect of example and excitement, but it is impossible to praise too highly his self-sacrificing devotion to the wounded, and his active exertions in their behalf. If I had the enviable power, possessed only by great poets, of conferring fame on others, this gallant boy should be an enduring example of the best qualities of genuine English boyhood.
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