 | English Roses |  |
WILSON'S LAST STAND.
Shoulder to shoulder they stood,
Strong men and good;
Only a handful, but still
All with one will,
Never to fly that last field—
Never to yield;
Wounded and wearied and spent,
Though yet unbent;
And if outworn they must lie,
Ready to die,
Shoulder to shoulder they stood,
Strong men and good.
Strong men and good;
Only a handful, but still
All with one will,
Never to fly that last field—
Never to yield;
170
Though yet unbent;
And if outworn they must lie,
Ready to die,
Shoulder to shoulder they stood,
Strong men and good.
Shoulder to shoulder they fought
Bravely, and wrought
Deeds that were wonders to tell—
Each ere they fell.
Horses and riders went down,
Wrapt in renown;
Haloed with history, red
Ripe with bloodshed;
Broken and slaughter-pursued,
But not subdued;
Shoulder to shoulder they fought
Bravely, and wrought.
Bravely, and wrought
Deeds that were wonders to tell—
Each ere they fell.
Horses and riders went down,
Wrapt in renown;
Haloed with history, red
Ripe with bloodshed;
Broken and slaughter-pursued,
But not subdued;
Shoulder to shoulder they fought
Bravely, and wrought.
Shoulder to shoulder they knelt,
Wounds never felt;
Flashing the pitiless ball,
Conquerors all;
Famished and sleepless and torn,
Faint and forlorn,
But with no thought of retreat
Or of defeat;
Slaying their hundreds and slain,
Heedless of pain;
Shoulder to shoulder they knelt,
Wounds never felt.
Wounds never felt;
Flashing the pitiless ball,
Conquerors all;
Famished and sleepless and torn,
Faint and forlorn,
But with no thought of retreat
Or of defeat;
Slaying their hundreds and slain,
Heedless of pain;
Shoulder to shoulder they knelt,
Wounds never felt.
Shoulder to shoulder they lay,
Ghastly and gray,
Greeting the doom at the end
Rather than bend;
Living a centuried life
In that great strife,
There for our England's old name
Harvesting fame,
Couched on a glorious bed,
Dying and dead;
Shoulder to shoulder they lay,
Ghastly and gray.
Ghastly and gray,
Greeting the doom at the end
Rather than bend;
Living a centuried life
In that great strife,
There for our England's old name
Harvesting fame,
171
Dying and dead;
Shoulder to shoulder they lay,
Ghastly and gray.
| English Roses | |