In Cornwall and Across the Sea With Poems Written in Devonshire. By Douglas B. W. Sladen |
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GORDON IS DEAD. |
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 | In Cornwall and Across the Sea |  |
247
GORDON IS DEAD.
Gordon is dead in Khartoum,
Dead ere deliverance came,
Ready we know for his doom,
Yet the disgrace is the same;
Those, who his mission decreed,
Failed him in hour of his need.
Dead ere deliverance came,
Ready we know for his doom,
Yet the disgrace is the same;
Those, who his mission decreed,
Failed him in hour of his need.
Who is to blame for his death?
He whose hand opened the gate?
He whose ball robbed him of breath?
No! those who left him to fate;
Until the voice of the land
Thundered too loud to withstand.
He whose hand opened the gate?
He whose ball robbed him of breath?
No! those who left him to fate;
Until the voice of the land
Thundered too loud to withstand.
248
Toss in your timorous sleep,
Ye, who had left him to die,
Ye and the women may weep,
England awaits your reply.
“Where is your brother,” cries she,
Answer as Cain did, will ye?
Ye, who had left him to die,
Ye and the women may weep,
England awaits your reply.
“Where is your brother,” cries she,
Answer as Cain did, will ye?
Had we no soldiers to send?
Had we no ships on the sea?
Had we not wealth without end?
Did ye not know what would be?
One thing we had not to spare,
Gordons, like this one, to dare.
Had we no ships on the sea?
Had we not wealth without end?
Did ye not know what would be?
One thing we had not to spare,
Gordons, like this one, to dare.
Now we have no one to save,
But we must fight for prestige:
Gordon, the bravest of brave,
Could have been saved from his siege,
With but a tithe of the men,
Had they been sent to him then.
But we must fight for prestige:
Gordon, the bravest of brave,
Could have been saved from his siege,
With but a tithe of the men,
Had they been sent to him then.
249
Yes! we must fight till we win,
Lest the old pride of our name,
Carried from Spain to Pekin,
Lose the fresh gloss of its fame:
And the dark infidel boast,
That he has conquered our host.
Lest the old pride of our name,
Carried from Spain to Pekin,
Lose the fresh gloss of its fame:
And the dark infidel boast,
That he has conquered our host.
“England expects” . . and our men
All do their duty we know,
Heedless of “where” and of “when”—
Once let them march on the foe;
“England expects others too,
Statesmen their duty to do.”
All do their duty we know,
Heedless of “where” and of “when”—
Once let them march on the foe;
“England expects others too,
Statesmen their duty to do.”
| In Cornwall and Across the Sea | |