 | English Roses |  |
MARCHING ORDERS.
We were off the Lord knew whither
And the Lord alone knew why,
As if spite had sped us thither
Under some infernal sky;
And as Dick said to McTavit,
“Multa tulit et sudavit
Puer,” thanks to destiny—
Always dealing toil and trouble
To our boys, with measure double,
And in close vicinity!
But the Hill men's ugly legion
Had been harrying the region
Which we watered with our blood,
And the losses made our bosses
With their precedents and glosses
Talk of turning back the flood.
And a scientific frontier
For which all red tapists pine,
Was the dream of Lord Dupontier—
Just to rectify the line!
For we had our marching orders,
And had gaily tumbled out
From our camp, to cross the Borders
And to worry things about.
And the Lord alone knew why,
141
Under some infernal sky;
And as Dick said to McTavit,
“Multa tulit et sudavit
Puer,” thanks to destiny—
Always dealing toil and trouble
To our boys, with measure double,
And in close vicinity!
But the Hill men's ugly legion
Had been harrying the region
Which we watered with our blood,
And the losses made our bosses
With their precedents and glosses
Talk of turning back the flood.
And a scientific frontier
For which all red tapists pine,
Was the dream of Lord Dupontier—
Just to rectify the line!
For we had our marching orders,
And had gaily tumbled out
From our camp, to cross the Borders
And to worry things about.
For the Viceroy at head quarters
Was a very fiend for fuss,
With his marketable daughters
Who all favoured the old cuss;
And possessed of one idea
As a patent panacea
Which he ventilated thus;
With his passion for defining
Bounds, that needed re-assigning—
While the burden fell on us!
By a rough and wrong provision
He had reached the right decision
We were spoiling for hard blows,
And worked better if the fetter
Of our drilling to the letter
Once relaxed its dreary shows;
And when raiders lit the candle
Which he so desired to prove,
They afforded a fit handle
To a fine strategic move.
For we had our marching orders
Though misgivings bothered some,
Where to cut the blooming Borders
On our route to Kingdom Come.
Was a very fiend for fuss,
With his marketable daughters
Who all favoured the old cuss;
And possessed of one idea
As a patent panacea
Which he ventilated thus;
With his passion for defining
Bounds, that needed re-assigning—
While the burden fell on us!
By a rough and wrong provision
He had reached the right decision
We were spoiling for hard blows,
And worked better if the fetter
Of our drilling to the letter
Once relaxed its dreary shows;
And when raiders lit the candle
142
They afforded a fit handle
To a fine strategic move.
For we had our marching orders
Though misgivings bothered some,
Where to cut the blooming Borders
On our route to Kingdom Come.
Things looked lively, boot and saddle
Were the business of the day,
Though the boys had long to paddle
Up a steep and dusty way;
With machine-like swing and tramping
And the horses' eager stamping,
As they sniffed afar the fray;
And the harness with its jingle
Made our torpid senses tingle,
And resent the least delay.
We seemed sportsmen after partridge,
Though not loaded with blank cartridge
And without superfluous weight;
For the jesting was unresting,
And it carried no suggesting
Of a sterner fun and freight.
But a rifle now would rattle
And a sabre then would glint,
While the vulture scented battle
And the jackal knew its print.
For we had our marching orders
And were glad enough to go,
If before we cleared the Borders
There was hell to hammer through.
Were the business of the day,
Though the boys had long to paddle
Up a steep and dusty way;
With machine-like swing and tramping
And the horses' eager stamping,
As they sniffed afar the fray;
And the harness with its jingle
Made our torpid senses tingle,
And resent the least delay.
We seemed sportsmen after partridge,
Though not loaded with blank cartridge
And without superfluous weight;
For the jesting was unresting,
And it carried no suggesting
Of a sterner fun and freight.
But a rifle now would rattle
And a sabre then would glint,
While the vulture scented battle
And the jackal knew its print.
For we had our marching orders
And were glad enough to go,
If before we cleared the Borders
There was hell to hammer through.
Here an old campaigner's bottle
Peeped from its concealing mesh,
There a gun with iron throttle
Rubbed its nose on harder flesh;
And the youngsters, full of fighting
To the muzzle with delighting,
Were demanding foes to thresh;
And the old and stirring story,
Waxing every day more gory
Now was trotted out afresh.
What were heat and thirst and thunder,
If the baking earth was under
And not over flagging feet?
Yes, rude faces caught new graces
And in spite of endless paces,
With an enemy to meet;
For that took from toil the bitter
And made hours of anguish fly,
While it lent a gallant glitter
To the keen expectant eye.
For we had our marching orders
And were mad, each mother's son,
To be first across the Borders,
With good service to be done.
Peeped from its concealing mesh,
There a gun with iron throttle
Rubbed its nose on harder flesh;
And the youngsters, full of fighting
To the muzzle with delighting,
Were demanding foes to thresh;
And the old and stirring story,
143
Now was trotted out afresh.
What were heat and thirst and thunder,
If the baking earth was under
And not over flagging feet?
Yes, rude faces caught new graces
And in spite of endless paces,
With an enemy to meet;
For that took from toil the bitter
And made hours of anguish fly,
While it lent a gallant glitter
To the keen expectant eye.
For we had our marching orders
And were mad, each mother's son,
To be first across the Borders,
With good service to be done.
Then the scouts came in with tidings
Drawing tenser every arm,
As we (not without self-chidings)
Rose responsive to the charm;
From the forehead slipt the shadow
Like a cloud that leaves the meadow,
At the thought of hostile harm;
While the stooping shoulder heightened
And the gaze of langour lightened,
With the music of alarm.
If the wind blew south or norward,
Yet it bare us ever forward
To the feasting of the strife;
And wild fancies gave us chances
Of renown and all romances,
Which alone were leaping life.
So our belts were buckled tighter,
At the prospect of a game,
And the dullest brow turned brighter
When it caught the battle flame.
For we had our marching orders
And retreat was deadly sin,
We would soon be past the Borders
And were ready to romp in.
Drawing tenser every arm,
As we (not without self-chidings)
Rose responsive to the charm;
From the forehead slipt the shadow
Like a cloud that leaves the meadow,
At the thought of hostile harm;
While the stooping shoulder heightened
And the gaze of langour lightened,
With the music of alarm.
If the wind blew south or norward,
Yet it bare us ever forward
To the feasting of the strife;
And wild fancies gave us chances
Of renown and all romances,
Which alone were leaping life.
So our belts were buckled tighter,
At the prospect of a game,
And the dullest brow turned brighter
When it caught the battle flame.
For we had our marching orders
And retreat was deadly sin,
We would soon be past the Borders
And were ready to romp in.
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